He's My Intern?
by losingmymindtonight
Summary: A kid from Queens was all it took to melt the ice around Tony Stark's frozen heart. - A series of oneshots that delve into the relationship between Tony Stark and Peter Parker as their lives begin to merge.
1. Never A Burden

AN: So… this is actually something I've been working on since before And You'll Blow Us All Away. I've _finally_ gotten around to posting it. This is going to be a series of loosely related oneshots set in a pretty murky timeline. They'll all focus on Tony and Peter's father/son bond and the way it grows as they spend more time together. Some of it will be pure fluff (like this chapter), and some of it may get pretty angsty.

I'd really like to incorporate your ideas into this, so please leave me some prompts!

As usual, this is NOT slash. I see Tony&Peter's relationship as a father/son thing, and that's how I'll write it.

For those of you who are waiting for an update on And You'll Blow Us All Away, I swear I'm working on it! I've been picking at it during my vacation, and I'm having some trouble with the next chapter, but I swear it'll come. I just have to force the Muse to agree with me. I already had this written, so I just edited it in my hotel room since I had some time to kill. Hopefully this will give you something to chew on while I get my shit together!

Here we go!

* * *

Tony Stark had never wanted kids.

It had been a fact he'd known for as long as he could remember. At first, it had been because he felt claustrophobic just _thinking_ about being tied down to a tiny human for 18+ years. It wasn't just _any_ tiny human, either. It was a tiny human version of _himself._ As far as he was aware, nobody wanted _that_ , least of all him. And once he became Iron Man, he knew that his life was far too dangerous to involve a child in. Even if a tiny part of him had wanted to.

 _It's for the best_ , he had told himself. He wasn't the kind of person you'd want as a father, anyway.

So, no, kids just weren't a part of Tony Stark's life plan.

And then he met Peter Parker, and all that went straight out the window.

At first, he'd tried to distance himself from the kid. The second he'd felt his stomach drop and his face go numb as the sight of the teenager getting vaulted across the airport in Germany, he'd known that he was getting _way_ to attached _way_ too quickly. So Tony Stark had done what Tony Stark does best: avoid the issue.

He'd assigned Happy to Peter, knowing that the man would keep the reckless kid as safe. From then on, he'd planned on staying as far away from the teenager as possible.

Attachment to anyone could only mean disaster. The Civil War and Siberia had taught him that.

But then Peter had gotten dropped into a lake. And then he broke a ferry. And then he crashed Tony's own damn plane and almost died for it.

At that point, Tony decided that the "hands off" approach wasn't really working for them.

He'd decided that the most obvious fix would be to offer the kid a place in the Avengers. He'd be able to train with, live with, and learn from what was left of the Earth's Mightiest Heroes. If there was ever any position from which Tony could keep the kid safe, it was with him swaddled right in the center of the Compound. It was, as far as Tony was concerned, the perfect solution.

But then the kid had surprised him, again, and rejected the offer. What kind of teenager wouldn't agree to join a group of fucking _superheroes_?

Apparently, the kid that Tony had somehow found himself responsible for. Wonderful.

So Peter had said no, and then his aunt had promptly discovered the true nature of Peter's… _afterschool activities_ , Tony was forced to scramble up a different plan.

And after being suitably chastised by Peter's aunt, he'd done just that.

Every other Friday, Happy would pick Peter up from school and bring him back to the Compound. The kid would spend the weekend with Tony, working in the lab, training with Vision and Rhodey, and learning exactly what it means to be a superhero.

Tony spent the hours before Peter arrived that first Friday telling himself, repeatedly, that he would not allow his relationship with Peter be anything more than strictly professional.

And then the kid bounced into the lab, eyes bright and smile wide, and Tony's heart decided differently.

Just four months later, and Peter had become constant in Tony's life that he couldn't imagine losing.

He had decided not to sell the Tower, in the end. If anyone asked, Tony told them that it was a prime real estate spot and so he had chosen to keep it in his back pocket, just in case. In reality, it was so that he would have a place to stay that was closer to the kid.

He spent most of his time there now, and he spent quite a lot of that time with Peter.

When he'd first returned from Siberia, the emptiness of the Tower had haunted him. It was the prime reason he'd originally wanted to sell it. The walls felt vacant where there used to be liveliness, and with Vision at the Compound and Rhodey at a rehab facility, the silence had driven Tony mad. The perfectly polished countertops and the undisturbed couches punched the breath out of him every time he entered a room.

And then Peter had waltzed into his life, and all of that had changed.

Tony had moved back into the Tower, much to Happy and the rest of his staff's chagrin, and the kid had started coming over in between his biweekly Compound visits. It had been a tentative thing at first, since neither Tony nor Peter was entirely sure where they stood following the ferry incident. After a while, however, the billionaire had become accustomed to F.R.I.D.A.Y. informing him that Peter had crawled through a window and was doing his homework on his couch. If he was out, he'd just call the kid and tell him what ice cream flavor was in the fridge that week. If he was in his lab, he'd wander up and sit with him, occasionally offering help on a difficult math problem or science concept while doing some paperwork.

If you looked around the Tower, there was evidence of Peter even when the kid himself was absent. Pencils stuck between couch cushions, sticky notes littering the coffee table, a permanent stash of apple juice and pickles in the fridge, half finished puzzles or Lego sets on the counters, a beaten up hoodie hanging on the coat rack.

It was nice. It was comforting. It had become Tony's new, and desperately needed, normal.

Today had evolved like many others. Tony had been sitting in his lab, tinkering with one of Dum-E's joints, when F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s voice sounded over the intercom.

"Sir, Peter is here."

Tony just nodded. "Does he have homework?"

"No, Sir. He wishes for me to inquire if he could spend the night."

The genius stopped for a moment, pulling a wrench out from between his teeth. "It's Thursday. Doesn't the kid have school tomorrow?"

"No, Sir. Tomorrow is a Teacher Work Day."

"Is his aunt okay with it?"

"Yes, Sir."

A bright smile split Tony's face at the prospect of spending his night with Peter. He didn't let himself analyze the emotion for too long. He never did. "Perfect. Tell him to come down here. He can work on his web fluid while I finish up with this and then we can watch a movie."

A few minutes later, the whirlwind that was Peter Parker came tumbling into the lab.

"Mister Stark!" Peter greeted, a little breathless. The kid had quit stuttering around Tony months ago, much to the older man's relief. His wide-eyed excitement and wonder, however, had yet to abate. Tony had come to realize it had less to do with the Stark fame and more to do with Peter's exuberant personality.

"Hey, Pete." Tony greeted, forcing his gaze away from the kid and back to the robot in front of him. "Settle down anywhere. I should be done with this soon."

He wasn't.

At some point, F.R.I.D.A.Y. ordered pizza and had it delivered to the lab by a wide-eyed intern. Tony took just enough time away from his work to ensure that Peter, who was equally engrossed in tinkering with one of his web shooters, ate something, before returning his attention to the desk.

Hours later, F.R.I.D.A.Y. spoke up once again.

"Sir, I think it may be a good idea to stop for the night."

Tony started. F.R.I.D.A.Y. almost never interrupted his work. She would occasionally contact Rhodey when he had gone a worrying amount of time without sleep, but it was very rare that should would take it upon herself to stop him.

Then he realized that the AI had set her voice to an unusually low volume setting.

A quick glance behind him revealed why.

Peter was curled up at one of the many work tables. His web shooters were perilously close to tumbling out of his limp grasp. His head was resting on the table, face soft and smoothed in sleep.

"How long has he been out?" Tony asked, matching F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s quiet tone.

"Approximately 43 minutes."

"What time is it?"

"1:56 AM."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

Tony stood and had to muffle a groan. His back ached at the sudden movement after having spent so long hunched over. He stretched his arms over his head as he made his way over to the sleeping teen.

At first, he planned to just wake the kid up and shove him into an elevator bound for his room. But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to do it. With a heavy sigh, Tony found himself slipping the web shooters out of Peter's hands and transferring his head from the hard table to Tony's shoulder. As soon as he was relatively confident that the kid was still fast asleep, the billionaire scooped the teenager into his arms and headed towards the elevator.

Thankfully, F.R.I.D.A.Y. anticipated his decision and had the doors open with the destination set as soon as he reached it. Tony leaned heavily against the elevator's guard rail.

"Y'know, Peter," Tony grumbled, making sure to keep his voice low enough that it wouldn't disturb the sleeper, "you're a lot heavier than you look."

When he'd decided to make a room for Peter in the Tower, he'd put it in his penthouse. There were a series of guest floors underneath it, all of which would have acted as perfectly suitable places for the kid to sleep, but Tony had felt an inexplicable need to keep Peter close to him. At the time, he'd also placed the kid's room as far away from the elevator as possible. If anyone managed the nearly impossible task of hacking into F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s systems and bypassing the countless security measures that surrounded the Stark Suite, Peter would be the furthest away from their only entry point.

Now, however, Tony cursed the choice.

The kid was _heavy_.

Okay, in all honestly, Peter really wasn't. Being Iron Man meant that Tony kept himself fit, and the teenager was skinny. It was more the principle of the thing rather than the actual burden.

 _He's not a burden_. A small, traitorous part of his mind whispered. _He's never been a burden._

Tony shook the thoughts away as he shouldered Peter's door open and gently deposited the teenager onto his bed. He took a few moments to tug off the kid's sneakers, which were threadbare and had Tony planning a shopping trip ASAP, before pulling the sheets up over the sleeping boy's shoulders.

He let himself have one last glance at Peter before slipping out of the room, imagining for just the briefest of moments if this is what it felt like to be a father.

It wasn't so bad, really, but Tony found himself unable to imagine feeling this way about anyone else other than the exact kid that was currently drooling on a pillowcase a few feet away.

No, Tony Stark didn't want kids.

But… he did want Peter Parker.

And hell, if that thought didn't terrify him.

* * *

AN: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave me some reviews about what you guys think! Hopefully, this one will go on for a _very_ long time!


	2. Shoe Shopping

AN: Hey guys! I know: two chapters of a new story in one day? What is happening? I just thought that the first installment was so short that you guys deserved a little more!

As always, reviews make me super happy! For this story in particular, please leave me some prompts! You give me an idea, and I'll try to write it! I'll take literally anything from a vague idea to a detailed summary. Just throw them in the comments!

* * *

Peter woke up confused.

He didn't remember going to bed, yet here he was: shoes sitting neatly by his nightstand, covers tucked under his chin, and the smell of bacon drifting through his cracked doorway.

After a quick yawn, Peter casted his mind back to the night before. He remembered coming into the lab and greeting Tony. They'd both gotten tied up in their separate projects. At one point, his mentor had shoved a pizza in his face with a gruff order to eat before heading back to his work station. He'd messed with his web shooters for a while, and then he must have fallen asleep.

There was another memory after that, though. So blurry that he almost wasn't sure it was real.

Strong arms carrying him, and an unmistakable voice lowered in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. There were no visuals accompanying the scene. His eyes must have been closed. After all, he was pretty sure he'd been mostly asleep at the time. But he remembered it. He remembered his cheek pressed against a muscled shoulder and the smell of motor oil and cologne.

He remembered it, and he didn't know if he should feel mortified or flattered.

Tony Stark had carried him to bed. Like a child.

And now, apparently, he was making breakfast?

"Good morning, Mr. Parker."

Peter smiled. "Morning, F.R.I.D.A.Y.! How are you?"

"I am well." The AI was so advanced, that it always surprised Peter. Talking to her genuinely felt like talking to a real person. "Mr. Stark wanted me to inform you, once you had awoken, that you should come to the kitchen for breakfast."

So he was right, then. Tony _was_ cooking breakfast. "I'll be right there."

He crawled out of bed, groaning slightly at the loss of warmth the expensive comforter provided. He quickly brushed his teeth, ran his fingers hastily through his sleep-mused hair, and changed into sweatpants and a nerdy science tee. They always made Mr. Stark smile in that way that was so rare, with his eyes crinkling at the corners and glistening with true amusement and maybe a trace of fondness.

Peter left his shoes where they were, socked feet padding down the hallway and into the massive living space.

"Nice of you to join me, kid."

Tony was leaning casually against the kitchen's breakfast bar. At the sight of Peter's t-shirt, he smiled widely.

"Nice shirt."

Peter smiled back in satisfaction. He knew Tony would like this one. Mission accomplished.

"Thanks. What're you cooking?"

"Bacon, eggs, pancakes. Just the usual breakfast stuff. Come sit down and I'll even let you have some."

The teenager laughed, hopping up onto one of the stools situated in front of the bar. "Thanks a ton, Mister Stark."

Tony just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I can't have the press finding out that I regularly starve my interns. Bad publicity, and all that."

Next thing Peter knew, a plate piled high with about ten pancakes was pushed in front of him.

"Bacon'll be up in a minute or two. Eat up, Spider-kid. We've got a busy day ahead of us."

The teenager spoke around a mouthful of syrupy pancakes. "What're we doing?"

Tony shot Peter a look at his lack of manners, but otherwise didn't comment. "We're going shopping. Your sneakers look more like scrap fabric than actual shoes."

"Oh, wow, Mister Stark," Peter stuttered, caught off guard, "that's, that's super nice of you but, but I-I don't need you to buy me shoes."

The billionaire just raised an eyebrow as he added a plate of bacon and eggs to Peter's breakfast spread. "Yeah? You gonna go buy them yourself?"

Peter winced. He knew that his shoes were on their last legs, but he couldn't bring himself to ask May for new ones. They weren't poor, exactly, but he knew that his aunt had to work extra hours in order to make ends meet. As long as his shoes weren't too tattered to wear, he'd keep using them.

"I just…" Peter sighed, briefly debating whether or not he should actually reveal his reasoning behind keep the threadbare sneakers.

In the end, he settled on honesty. It was usually the best route. "They're expensive." He mumbled.

Tony stared. "You're telling me that you're wearing sneakers that were due for a date with a landfill months ago because you can't afford new ones?"

"We could probably afford some." Peter blushed. "I just… didn't want to ask."

Tony indignation softened into understanding. "Okay, kid. First things first, eat the breakfast I so lovingly made for you. Then, you and I are going on a little shopping trip. We'll get you shoes, shirts, jeans, the works."

"Mister St-"

"Nope. Nada. Zip it. Nothing you say is going to convince me otherwise. Call it payment for your internship."

Seeing that there was no way to get his mentor to change his mind, Peter opted to at least be polite. "Thank you, Mister Stark."

"See?" The older man said, smiling widely while taking a bite out of a slice of bacon. "Manners. They're important. At least, so I'm told."

Peter laughed.

Tony's smile only grew.

It was a good morning.

* * *

To Peter's surprise, Tony decided to drive himself rather then get Happy to take them.

"Do you drive a lot?" Peter asked, kicking off his tattered shoes and curling up in the Tesla Roadster's comfy leather seats.

Tony shrugged, easing the car out onto the road. "Whenever I can. It's therapeutic."

They were silent for most of the drive, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Peter found himself watching the buildings and people blur past through the window while Tony played a Def Leppard album in the background. Peter hadn't even noticed he'd started to sing along to one of the songs until Tony stopped the music suddenly.

"You know this song?" Tony asked, and Peter laughed brightly at the shock on his face.

"Yeah, of course I do."

Tony just stared at Peter for a moment, only looking back at the road when the light they were stopped at turned green.

His mentor pressed a few buttons on the steering wheel and the song restarted, volume increasing to a level that was just under uncomfortable to Peter's enhanced hearing.

And then he started singing along. Loudly.

Peter started at first, staring at his smirking mentor before realizing that he was offering an open invitation for the teenager to join in.

With a smile and a little giggle, he did.

When the chorus rolled around, Tony gave Peter's shoulder a playful shove and increased his volume, prompting Peter to do the same.

By the time the song finished, the pair was belting out the lyrics as loudly as possible. Their performance was only interrupted by the occasional breathless burst of laughter.

As the final beat faded into oblivion, Tony turned the dialed the music down to background noise again. Neither Peter nor Tony mentioned their impromptu jam session, but something in both of their eyes shined brighter.

 _Is this what having a dad is like?_

Peter guessed so. He'd found himself looking up to Tony as a father figure rather than an idol more and more since his Homecoming fiasco. The man's unapproachable exterior seemed to melt away around the teenager. With Peter, Tony wasn't a billionaire. He was a mentor, a comforter, a friend, a _father_.

Peter expected the realization to frighten him.

It didn't.

It felt right.

Having been so lost in his thoughts, Peter didn't even realize they'd pulled up outside an expensive looking department store.

"You good, kid?" Tony asked, forehead wrinkled in thought. "You've been staring at me for a while now. Just drinking in my handsome face?"

The teenager laughed. "What handsome face?"

Tony faked indignation, throwing a dramatic hand over his heart. "You wound me!"

Peter just cackled.

"Alright, get out, you little heathen."

Peter scrambled out of the car, still chuckling a little, and skipped over to the driver's side before Tony could even get fully out of his seat.

"God," Tony groaned, shoving his door shut and locking the car, "I forgot how much energy you have. Next time we do this, I'm slipping sedatives in your apple juice."

The store was relatively empty, which was a relief for Peter. He wasn't entirely sure how he'd react to a gaggle of paparazzi and fans vying for Tony Stark's attention.

The girl working the checkout counter stared at them, star struck, before sputtering out her practiced greeting and telling them to let her know if they needed any help. Tony responded with suaveness that Peter was pretty sure he would never be able to imitate.

Within a few minutes, Peter was carrying a large pile of shirts, jeans, and a few dress pants. He tried to protest the latter, but Tony just shook him off, citing the possibility of Peter attending a few Stark Industries galas and parties as a reason for him needing them.

Tony demanded that Peter showed him every single piece, so the next half an hour was full of trying on clothes and dealing with Tony adjusting collars and tugging sleeves.

They ended up buying seven t-shirts, four dress shirts, five pairs of jeans, two pairs of dress pants, and a couple pairs of socks. Peter had balked at the price of some of the items, but Tony had shrugged it off, reminding the teenager gruffly that the title "billionaire" wasn't just for kicks.

They stashed the bags in the trunk of the car before heading into a shoe store a few storefronts down. There, Tony continued his ridiculous extravagance, buying Peter two Converse, a pair of Nike tennis shoes, and a pair of dress shoes whose price tag made the teenager's eyes pop out of his head.

After Peter voiced this thought on their way back to the car, Tony looked at him with a sigh.

"Kid, where do you usually buy your clothes, anyway?"

Peter blinked. "Thrift stores."

It was Tony's turn to look surprised. " _Thrift_ stores?"

"Yeah!" Peter exclaimed. "Have you ever been?"

His mentor scoffed. "No, Peter. I've never been thrift shopping."

The teenager had an idea, and excitement rose in his chest at the thought. "Can we go?"

Tony stopped, one hand resting on the top of the trunk in preparation to pop it closed. "Go thrift shopping? Now?"

"Oh," Peter dropped his eyes to the ground, mistaking Tony's surprise for displeasure, "I'm sorry. I know you probably have other stuff to do, and you've already wasted a ton of time on me today anyway. I totally understand that you-"

"Do us both a favor and shut up, kid." Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes on impulse at the teenager's nervous rant. "I don't have anything else to do. I wasn't saying no. I was just surprised."

The excitement rekindled in his chest suddenly. "So we can go?"

Tony smiled. "Sure."

An exuberant gasp raced through Peter's throat. "Awesome! You're gonna _love_ it, Mister Stark!"

The older man just laughed. "Get in, kid."

Peter scrambled to obey, tucking himself into the passenger's seat and immediately jittering.

"Alright, kid." Tony shifted the car into reverse, pulling out of his parking space effortlessly. "Point me in the direction of one of your fabled _thrift stores_."

* * *

Peter looked _so_ excited.

Frankly, Tony didn't understand it. Why was the kid practically vibrating at the prospect of thumbing through dirty, second-hand shirts when he could buy perfectly new clothes almost anywhere else?

But Peter was excited, so Tony went along with it.

Thirty minutes after leaving the shoe store, he parked the car on the curb outside of a dingy thrift store in Queens. Peter grabbed the sleeve of his mentor's shirt and dragged him through the doors, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he went.

Tony laughed, and realized suddenly that he'd been doing a lot of that today. The kid's joy was contagious. It was impossible to keep up his prickly façade when Peter was around. If it was anyone else, it would scare him.

But it was Peter, so Tony couldn't feel anything but fondness.

"Look!" Peter exclaimed, pulling off Tony's black sunglasses and replacing them with an obnoxiously orange pair instead. "Aren't these awesome?!"

The older man took a look at himself in one of the foggy mirrors propped up against the wall and smiled. The glasses were _awful_.

But Peter had picked them out, and the kid was standing behind him with a grin splitting his face.

"Yeah, kid." Tony said, smiling back. "They're pretty cool, aren't they? Think I can pull them off?"

"Oh, yeah!" Peter said, nodding his head so enthusiastically that Tony worried he'd hurt his neck. "You can pull off anything."

Something warm rushed through his veins at the kid's words. There was nothing Peter didn't think Tony could do. It was humbling, in a way, to have someone believe in you and trust you to exclusion of everything else.

Needless to say, they went home with those sunglasses still planted firmly on the billionaire's face and that elated expression still stamped on Peter's.

It was totally worth it.

* * *

They'd put on the newest Star Trek movies when they got home, at Peter's request. Tony changed out of his suit and into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. Peter just pulled on his pajamas and sat far closer to Tony than was strictly necessary.

They had ice cream for dinner. Tony grumbled something about the kid eating at least four vegetables the next day to make up for it, and Peter had just sassed him right back in the way only teenagers could.

In the middle of Khan's dramatic identity reveal during Star Trek: Into Darkness, Peter spoke up quietly.

"Thank you for carrying me to bed last night."

Tony pondered his next words carefully before he spoke them. "You remember that?"

"A little."

"I didn't think you were awake."

"I don't think I was. At least, not really."

There was a brief lull in the conversation. The only sound came from the space battle playing out on the TV.

"You didn't have to do that, you know."

Tony sighed. "I don't mind, kid. You should know that, by the way. You're never a problem, and I'll always make time for you."

He couldn't see Peter's smile, but he knew it was there.

"Thank you for today. I had a really good time."

"I did too, kid."

"Hey, Mister Stark?"

"Yes, Mister Parker?"

Peter groaned and dropped his head back against Tony's chest, looking up at his mentor beneath dark eyelashes. "You're not the person they think you are. You know that, don't you? You're so much better than what they say."

Tony knew that, logically, the media told terrible stories about him not because they were true, but because the drop of his name sold magazines and pushed up viewership. He told himself almost every day that it didn't reflect who he actually was.

And for a moment, Tony Stark let a teenage kid from Queens make him really believe it.

* * *

AN: For reference, the Def Leppard song is Pour Song Sugar on Me.

Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Mr Fahrenheit

AN: Hey guys! Here we go: the obligatory sick!fic.

Fun fact: this is the first Tony&Peter fic that I actually wrote. I've had it on my desktop for a while now, just waiting to share it with the world. Hopefully, you all like it as much as I do!

Thank you for all your prompts! I've already gotten started on a few of them! Currently, I have three non-prompt chapters already written and ready for a final round of edits before posting. Depending how everything goes, I might throw one or two prompt chapter in between them!

Thank you again for everything! I'm still being blown away by all the reviews I've been getting. I can't believe how many people have been enjoying my stories! It makes me a very happy author!

* * *

There was no other explanation: Peter was sick.

When he woke up in the morning feeling like a gong was going off in his head and with nausea rolling in his stomach, he tried to ignore it. Instead of admitting to himself that he was definitely coming down with something, Peter chalked his symptoms up to simple nerves for the Decathlon competition the next day. After all, could he still even get sick with his enhanced metabolism and healing?

The answer, it turns out, is a pretty solid _yes_. Yes, he can.

He was lucky that May was away, volunteering with free vaccination clinics in New Orleans. She'd been gone for a week and still had another to go before flying home. If she'd been there, she would have seen his glassy eyes and flushed cheeks and sent him back to bed before he could voice a single protest.

A small, childish part of him wished she _was_ home. It longed for her to bustle him off to bed with one hand on his forehead and the other brushing some sweaty hair out of his face in tender concern.

But no, Peter didn't have time to curl up in bed and forget about the world. In less than an hour, he was supposed to be on a bus bound for Cornell University to take part in his Decathlon team's first meet since Liz left.

It was also their first meet since MJ started coaching, and he found himself surprisingly desperate to not let her down in a way that transcended the obligation he felt to his other teammates.

So instead of giving in to the fatigue that was wrapping its sapping fingers around his bones, Peter threw on clothes, popped some ibuprofen, and stumbled out of his apartment with his duffle bag thrown over one shoulder and his backpack on the other.

He, due to what must have been divine intervention, managed to stay standing during the interminable subway ride to school. He even managed to get on the bus without rousing too much suspicion with anyone besides Ned, because he had to steady him when his head gave a particularly sharp throb of pain, and MJ, because she's terrifyingly observant.

As Peter collapsed into his seat, he decided that nothing was more comfortable than the wrinkled vinyl underneath him. The window, which he shamelessly leaned against, was blessedly cool against his burning forehead. Ned slid in next to him, watching him with poorly disguised concern.

He didn't have the energy protest when his best friend gently pulled him away from the window and shoved the back of his hand against Peter's cheek. He hadn't felt too terrible when he'd left the apartment, but it felt like the trip to the school had increased his discomfort exponentially. This meant that he wasn't even overly surprised by Ned's sharp intake of air once he felt how hot Peter's skin was.

"Dude," Ned hissed, "you should _not_ be here."

Peter briefly considered trying to convince Ned that he was fine, but even he wasn't stupid enough to think that it would work. Besides, he would need Ned's help if he was going to make it through the competition.

"I know."

"Then why _are_ you here? Are you hoping that you'll just, what, magically get better on the bus ride over?"

Truthfully, Peter wasn't entirely sure what he was hoping for. If he wasn't so stubbornly determined not to let MJ down again, he would have called in sick and stayed curled up in bed, chugging cold medicine and binging Netflix.

"I don't know."

Ned sighed, shaking his head. "You can't do this to yourself, dude."

Peter just shrugged as the bus lurched into motion, sending a corresponding lurch through his sensitive stomach.

"Okay, losers." MJ snapped, leaning casually against the front row of seats. "Practice time. We all know you nerds need it."

Peter just stifled a groan and curled closer into his himself, startling only briefly when Ned draped his coat over his friend's trembling shoulders.

"Take a nap, dude." Ned whispered. "I'll handle MJ."

Peter _thinks_ he mumbled a thank you, but sleep came too quickly for him to really know for sure.

* * *

When Peter woke up to Ned shaking his shoulder, he decided almost instantly that he wished he was dead.

"Peter, we're here."

He answered only with a groan.

"C'mon, man. All you gotta do is walk to the hotel room. Think you can?"

"Maybe."

"Well, that's better than a no."

Next thing he knew, Ned was pulling him to his feet, using one arm to grab both of their backpacks and the other to support Peter as he stumbled.

The trip to the hotel room was a blur of heat flashes and trying to suppress his rising nausea. After what felt like an eternity, Ned gently deposited him on the bed in their shared room and retreated with a quiet promise to return once he grabbed their duffle bags from the bus.

After what felt like only seconds, Peter felt the bed sink near his hip as his friend set down next to him.

"Hey, Peter. How do you feel?"

"Didn't you leave?"

Ned paused.

"I did leave, dude. I was gone for almost 20 minutes."

"Oh."

"I really think we need to call May."

That roused Peter from his fever-induced stupor.

"No, Ned!" He blearily jerked upright, and the world tilted dangerously as a result. "No! Don't call May."

He didn't even realize he was falling off the bed until he felt Ned's hands catch him.

"Okay," Ned said gently, "we won't call May. Chill, Peter."

"I think," Peter swallowed convulsively, "I think 'm gonna be sick."

"Shit." Ned grabbed him and hauled him to the bathroom, positioning him over the toilet just in time for Peter to vomit up what felt like everything he'd ever eaten.

"Listen, Peter," Ned said once the other boy had finished, head resting against the toilet seat in exhaustion. "I'm calling someone. If you don't want it to be May, it's gonna have to be Mister Stark."

The part of Peter that wanted to protest was overrun by the steadily growing side of him that just wanted it all to _stop._ So, instead of arguing, he just let out of a pitiful whine.

"Will you be okay for a second? I need to go talk to Mister Harrington."

All he could do was swallow painfully and nod.

"I'll be right back."

* * *

After a quick conversation with Mister Harrington, Ned found himself dialing Tony freaking _Stark_ 's number on Peter's phone.

Man, when did his life get so _cool_?

Mister Stark answered on the second ring.

"Peter?" His voice practically dripped with practiced charisma, but there was also a hint of genuine fondness in his tone. "Shouldn't you be busy doing… whatever it is you young nerds get up to nowadays?"

"Oh, uh, hi, Mister Stark."

The humor disappeared suddenly from Mister Stark's voice, and Ned felt his mouth go dry at the steel lacing his next words.

"You're not Peter."

"No, I'm, um, I'm not."

"Who the hell are you and where the hell is he?"

"I'm Ned, and, uh-"

"Ned? You're his, oh, god, what was it again? Guy in the chair?"

Ned breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes! That's me!"

"Nice to meet you, Ned. Where's Peter?"

"Right! He's sick."

"And that's my problem… because?"

"May's away. I'm so sorry, Mister Stark, but I didn't know who else to call."

"Oh shit. I mean, shoot. Don't repeat that. It's a naughty word. You're at Cornell, right?"

"Uh, yeah." Hadn't Mister Stark just said he didn't know what Peter was doing, or where he was? Was he lying then? Or was he tracking Peter, like, all the time now?

Was that even legal?

"Okay. I'll be there in, uh, an hour. Try to keep him alive until then, will you? His aunt would be _pissed_ if I let him die on my watch."

"Y-yes sir."

The call ended with a click.

Ned just stared at the phone blankly.

"Holy shit."

* * *

"Peter?"

That was Ned again. He left, didn't he? Or was that earlier? Peter couldn't remember.

"Ned?"

"Yeah, man. I called Mister Stark. He's coming to get you."

"Mister Stark?"

Why was Ned talking to Mister Stark? He didn't think he was Spider-Man right now. Was he? He fumbled one hand up to feel for his mask.

"I told you I was calling him. Don't you remember? God, how high is your fever?"

Ned was saying a lot of words, but none of them were really filtering through. Really, Peter just wanted to sleep.

His stomach had other ideas.

After he finished his second session of retching into the toilet, he dozed on and off for a while, only vaguely registering when Ned's nervous rambling cut off and was replaced suddenly by a tentative hand on his knee and a much deeper voice.

"Kid?"

Peter knew that voice, but his mind couldn't figure out how it fit into this exact situation. He cracked open his gritty eyelids and saw the blurry but recognizable face of Tony Stark.

"T'ny?"

"Who knew I just needed to get you sick to make you call me Tony." The billionaire flashed him a wry grin. "I say we blow this popsicle stand. What do you think?"

"M'kay."

"Alright, Spiderling. I'm gonna sit you up now. Don't puke on me."

The world tilted and his head sent a sharp thrum of agony out behind his eyes as Mister Stark maneuvered him to his feet with a gentleness that Peter didn't even know he possessed.

"Just lean on me, kid." Tony murmured, sliding Peter's arm over his shoulders while his hoisted him up by his waist. "I've got you."

Peter was peripherally aware of Mister Stark thanking Ned and then having a clipped discussion with Mister Harrington, but he seemed to phase in and out of awareness. Had he been more awake, he probably would have been embarrassed by how much he was leaning on his mentor and hero. Luckily for him, he was incoherent enough that he found only comfort in the close proximity.

Next time his surroundings filtered in, he was being transferred from Mister Stark's side to the backseat of a car. He let out a childish whine at the loss of his mentor's warmth.

"Easy, kid. I'm getting in with you."

Peter blinked blearily at the comfortably lit interior and notice Happy staring at him, twisted around uncomfortably in the driver's seat.

"Hey Happy." Peter mumbled, hoping that his greeting sounded like actual words rather than a mouthful of gibberish.

"Look this way for a sec, kiddo."

Peter lazily trailed his gaze over to where Mister Stark was sitting beside him with that loose limbed confidence and ease that only the billionaire could muster. Tony held his gaze for a moment before sighing heavily.

"Well, you look like shit."

Peter felt a subdued rush of indignation at the comment. "'M fine."

"You are?" Tony scoffed. "Tell me, if this is 'fine' for you, what does your 'not fine' look like?"

"Uh," Peter paused, trying to piece the jumble of confusion in his head into speech, "looks worse?"

Peter didn't think he'd said anything funny, but Tony laughed anyway.

"Alright Happy, let's get the snotty child back to the jet before he vomits all over the rental car."

Peter was too tired to ask Mister Stark what he meant by jet. Instead, he just leaned into his mentor's warm side and let his heavy eyes drift shut.

Right before sleep claimed him, he could have sworn that he felt a tentative hand card gently through his sweaty hair.

* * *

If Tony Stark had to compile a list of people who should be caring for a sick child, he would definitely put himself last.

Hell, he would leave himself off the damn list.

Yet here he was, sitting in the backseat of a car with a teenager who felt more like a furnace than a human curled into his side, completely unsure as to what exactly he was supposed to do with him.

Seriously, what the hell was he doing?

Even as he considered all the reasons why leaving Peter in his care was a terrible, _terrible_ idea, the kid unconsciously nuzzled his face into Tony's neck. Something akin to warm affection and a fierce protectiveness reared up inside of him, and his hand instinctually moved to brush through Peter's damp hair while his other arm curled tighter around his waist.

And for a few simple minutes, Tony just let himself bask in how much he had grown to genuinely _love_ the boy sleeping against him.

"We're here, boss." Happy called back softly, breaking into his silent reverie.

Tony nodded, and then floundered.

"Right. Yes. Uh, how do I do this?" He muttered, glancing down at Peter.

In the end, he decided that rousing Peter just enough to help him stumble into the private jet made the most sense. He wasn't getting any younger, and he'd rather spare his back the stress of carrying the teenager, even considering how skinny Peter was.

"Hey, Peter?" Tony murmured, gently shaking the kid's shoulder. "C'mon, I'm not carrying you."

Although he received no verbal confirmation, Tony assumed that Peter's blurry eyes meeting his was enough.

"Alright, up we go." Tony pulled Peter out of the car, thanking his quick reflexes when he had to lunge forward to keep Peter from tumbling headfirst onto the asphalt.

Peter managed, with help from both Tony and Happy, to stumble his way up the aircraft stairs and collapse, nearly spent, into one of the plush chairs by the window. Tony plopped down next to him, pressing a hand gently against his forehead.

That was something adults did when their kids were sick, right? Not that Peter was his kid, obviously, but he was sort of an acting guardian at the moment and he was pretty sure that the forehead thing was something acting guardians did, too.

"Shit, Happy. He's really warm. What the fuck do I do?"

Happy just sighed, disappearing for a few seconds before reappearing with the plane's First Aid Kit. He tossed it into Tony's lap before walking to the other end of the cabin and pulling out his StarkPhone, essentially removing himself from the situation.

Tony ripped open the kit, fumbling nervously with the thermometer before clicking the button and leaning over to Peter.

"Okay, Spider-kid. Open wide. I'm about 90% sure this goes under your tongue."

After shoving the device into a half-conscious Peter's mouth and waiting impatiently for the finishing beep, Tony found himself staring at a number that seemed _way_ too high for his liking.

"Shit. Fuck. 103.4. Is his brain gonna fry, Happy?"

A beat of silence, and then an exasperated, "I hope so."

" _Happy."_

"Chill, Tony. It's not even an hour back to the Compound and a Med Bay full of the best doctors in the area, including Bruce. Something tells me he'll survive until then."

Tony felt only superficially reassured, but he also knew that he couldn't do much of anything until they got back to the Compound. He forced himself to take a few deep, steadying breaths before focusing back on Peter.

"Hey, kid. How you feeling?"

Peter blinked at him slowly, processing his words at a rate trailing far behind his usually genius intellect.

"Not good."

If anything, the kid's honesty was just further indication of how shitty he really felt.

"Well, we'll be at the Compound in less than an hour, and then we'll drug you up and put you to bed. Until then, I suggest a nap. Sound good?"

Peter hummed and reached out towards Tony, pulling himself against his mentor's suit jacket instead of the window. For a brief moment, Tony froze. Then, slowly, he eased his arms around the kid, shuffling him into a more comfortable position before settling back against his seat, resigned to spending the entire flight acting as an oversized pillow.

He forced himself to ignore the way Happy was smirking at him across the cabin.

* * *

When the Avengers' Compound first appeared through the windshield, Tony had never been so relieved.

He had ended up carrying the kid out of the plane bridal style after it became clear that Peter's fever-addled brain couldn't cope with the task of navigating the stairs. He'd called ahead to Bruce, making him promise to meet them at the front steps.

Sure enough, the scientist was outside, waiting dutifully, when Happy pulled up. Tony pushed open the door and gathered Peter into his arms, surprised at how easily the maneuver came to him. Bruce raised his eyebrows at the sight of Tony, clothes disheveled and hair mused, speed walking towards him, feverish teenager curled in his arms.

"What's wrong with him?"

"I don't know!" Tony exclaimed, instantly looking sheepish at his outburst, glancing nervously at the sleeping kid in his arms to make sure he hadn't disturbed him.

"Symptoms?" Bruce questioned, gesturing for Tony to head into the Compound.

"He was throwing up when I got there and his fever is really high. I think it was 103.9 the last time I checked. He's really out of it, too. Keeps phasing in and out."

Bruce just nodded, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to take them to Tony's personal floor.

"What? Doesn't he need to go to the Med Bay?" Tony snapped, jerking around to look at Bruce so quickly that he almost dropped Peter.

Bruce couldn't stop the laugh this time. "Tony, he has the flu. He's going to feel pretty terrible for the next few days, but your 'intern' will be just _fine_. Stop panicking."

Tony paused, glancing between Peter's slack face and Bruce's amused one, before sighing.

"He's Spiderman."

Bruce just nodded. "I assumed."

"You knew?"

"It's not too difficult for someone who knows you to figure out."

"Shit."

Bruce hesitated for a moment before plowing forward. "Is he yours?"

Tony just stared.

"Mine?"

"Yeah, Tony. Is he yours?"

"Is he my kid?"

" _Yes,_ Tony."

He sputtered for a moment before answering.

" _No._ He's, I'm, we're, _no._ I'm not his _father_ , Bruce. Jesus."

Bruce just shrugged, not fully believing his friend but deciding that now was probably not the best moment to push it.

The elevator doors slid open, and Tony quickly busied himself with situating Peter on the couch, grabbing a collection of blankets and pillows which he used to create a cocoon around the teenager.

Bruce just hung back, smirking at the harried genius as he fluttered around like a mother hen.

Tony stopped and glared at the scientist. "Are you going to help with something? If not, get out."

Bruce rolled his eyes and laughed. "I'll go work on a fever reducer that can handle his super-metabolism, just in case. Call me if you need anything."

He ignored Tony's grumbled farewell, and stepped back into the elevator feeling bemused.

 _Since when did Tony get a kid?_

* * *

Peter woke up to the smell of oatmeal and the sound of shattering glass.

"Shit!"

Peter blinked his eyes of wearily, looking around the room in confusion. He was _definitely_ not in his apartment. Why wasn't he in his apartment?

Oh, right.

He had gotten sick and then Ned had called Tony fucking _Stark_ to come pick him up and then he fell asleep on him _. Twice._

This was, without a doubt, the most embarrassing day of his life. He also still felt like crap, which sucked.

"Peter!"

He glanced up suddenly at the exclamation of his name, wincing as it brought a pounding headache to his attention.

Tony, who was kneeling beside the couch, flinched back at the sign of Peter's pain.

"Oh, shit, sorry, Pete."

"How, uh," Peter had to suppress a second wince when he felt the scratchiness in his throat, "how'd I get here?"

Tony smirked. "I carried you."

"You," Peter stared, eyes wide as he felt horror sink in at Tony's admission, "you _carried_ me?"

"Yep!" Tony said, accentuating the 'p' with a cheerful pop. "You're heavier than you look, by the way."

Peter just stared at him, face reddening.

And Tony? Tony just _laughed._

"You feeling any better?"

"Uh, a little."

"Well, you're coherent, so that's gotta be a good thing, right?"

"I guess?"

"Jesus, kid. Work with me here, will you?"

The next thing Peter knew, a thermometer was being thrust under his tongue. A few seconds later, it beeped and Tony pulled it out, frowning at whatever it revealed.

"Huh. 102.3. Not great, but lower."

Peter just blinked at him.

"You want something to eat?" Tony asked, jumping to his feet and heading towards the kitchen. His next words were called out over his shoulder. "Dum-E and I made oatmeal. I promise there's no motor oil in it this time. I checked."

Peter's stomach flopped at the thought of food.

"No, thank you."

"Nope. Wrong answer. You're eating. Healthy bones for growing kids, or some shit like that."

Tony waltzed back into the living room and unceremoniously thrust a bowl of oatmeal into Peter's hands, staring at him with one eyebrow raised when he didn't immediately take a bite.

"If you don't start eating in the next ten seconds, I'm going to airplane that spoon into your mouth."

Peter tentatively took his first bite, surprising himself with how hungry he actually was after swallowing. He had to actively stop himself from inhaling the rest of the bowl. By the time he finished, he could feel fatigue pulling at his eyelids again.

He was getting _so_ tired of being tired.

He barely noticed Tony pull the spoon out of his limp hand and take his dirty bowl back to the kitchen. He felt his mentor tug one of his blankets up to his chin before settling next to him on the couch.

"'M I sick?" Peter asked, eyes still closed.

There was a foreign softness to Tony's voice when he answered. "Yeah, Underoos. You've got the flu. We're hoping your mutant immune system will kick in soon, though."

Peter paused for a second, working the words through his tired mind. "You don't have to stay with me." He murmured, blinking sleepily at his mentor, who had kicked his socked feet up on the coffee table and was busying himself with choosing a movie from F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s considerable archives.

Tony turned to look at him, gaze lingering for longer than necessary on Peter's ruffled hair and glossy eyes.

"Don't sweat it, kiddo. Go to sleep."

He was out only moments later.

* * *

Tony was halfway through a shitty Hallmark movie when he felt an abnormally warm body press itself into his side for what he was pretty sure must be the third time that day. He glanced down at the mop of brown hair that had shifted across the couch, smiling despite himself as Peter's fingers curled into the soft cotton of Tony's shirt.

He couldn't explain how Peter made him feel. The best word he knew would be _parental_ , but that scared Tony more than he cared to admit. So instead of thinking about it, Tony addressed the issue like the addressed most of his problems.

Deflect.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Yes, boss?"

"Clear my schedule for today and tomorrow."

"Of course."

 _Well,_ Tony thought, adjusting his grip on Peter so that both of them were lying in a semi-horizontal position, _might as well follow Underoos' example._

He let Peter's soft breathing and comforting weight chase his insomnia away and lull him to sleep.

* * *

When Bruce came in hours later to tell Tony he'd synthesized a fever reducer for Peter's super metabolism, the sight that greeted him stopped him in the doorway.

He was pretty sure if he told anyone who knew Tony that he'd found the billionaire asleep on the couch with a sick teenager curled into his side, they'd laugh in his face.

That means he was damn lucky that he remembered to snap a picture before slipping out the door, leaving the medicine and a note on the kitchen counter.

 _Not his son my ass._

* * *

AN: So… I've managed to make Tony carry Peter two times in three chapters. I'm very proud.

Thank you so much for all your amazing reviews! They inspire me so much!


	4. An American Musical

AN: Hey guys! So this is short and sweet. It's a bit of a buffer chapter between Mr. Fahrenheit and a slightly angstier chapter that comes next.

Listen, this is pure fluff. Pure, gratuitous, self-fulfilling fluff. I offer no apologizes, only warnings.

SPOILER ALERT: Hamilton spoilers ahead. If, for some reason, you've never seen/listened to the musical and want to avoid learning some vital aspects of the ending, just skip this one!

Here we go!

* * *

Tony started noticing the obsession two months ago.

Peter had been sitting in his lab, half working on a new batch of web fluid and half tapping along to whatever was blaring through his ear buds, when Tony had wandered over and asked him what he was listening to.

He hadn't meant it as anything other than amiable conversation. He'd been trying to take a more invested interest in learning the nuances of Peter's life ever since he'd realized that the kid saw him as a father figure. Knowing a little about Peter's music tastes would qualify as good parenting, right? The kid would appreciate it, surely.

It seemed that the kid felt the exact opposite of appreciative.

Peter had blushed, shoving his phone deep into his pocket while stuttering nervously.

Fascinating.

Unfortunately for Peter, Tony didn't like having things hidden from him. So, as soon as Peter had left the lab to grab their dinner from the takeout driver in the lobby, Tony asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to hack his phone and tell him what Peter seemed so desperate to hide.

"Are you sure, Boss?" F.R.I.D.A.Y. asked, and if he didn't know any better, Tony would say she sounded disapproving. "If Peter wants to keep it private, it may be counterproductive for you to pry."

"Tell me, F.R.I.D.A.Y."

"Mr. Parker was listened to the soundtrack of Hamilton: An American Musical."

So _that_ was Peter's big secret?

"That's it?"

"Yes."

Tony laughed.

 _Man,_ Tony thought, still chuckling to himself, _this kid is a fucking delight._

* * *

Peter was slouched in the passenger's seat of one of Tony's Audis, staring out the window as Tony drove them to dinner, when Tony finally snapped.

It had been two weeks since F.R.I.D.A.Y. had revealed Peter's "big secret," and the billionaire had been bemusedly watching the kid dodge questions about his music habits ever since.

Enough was enough.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"Play My Shot, will you?"

"Right away, Sir."

As the music blared out of the high-tech speakers, Tony glanced over at Peter and had to smother a laugh at his horrified expression.

"You know." Peter said, eyes wide and the tips of his ears coloring red. He said the words with the same inflection that one would give to a death sentence.

This time, Tony _did_ laugh. Trust Peter to make it seem like the end of the world. "I know."

The teenager let out a strangled groan and sunk farther down into his leather seat.

"What, kid? I couldn't throw away my shot, after all."

"Mr. Stark, you're killing me."

"C'mon, Peter. Not feeling helpless now, are you?"

"Mr. _Stark_."

"But we're in the greatest city in the world!"

Peter just whined and pulled his sweatshirt over his head.

 _This,_ Tony thought, still snickering at the boy's embarrassment, _is the best moment of my life._

* * *

The next day, Tony bought two front row tickets to a showing of Hamilton on Broadway in six week's time. He called Peter's aunt and, after being told off for being "too generous," they agreed to tell Peter he was going with Tony to a bioengineering conference so that the true nature of the trip could stay a surprise.

* * *

"Hey, Underoos." Tony greeted, six weeks later, when Peter slid into the backseat beside him. The kid tossed his backpack onto the floorboards in a flurry of hyperactivity that Tony was pretty sure only Peter could muster. "How was school?"

Peter just rolled his eyes. "It was school."

"Fair."

"Hi, Happy!" Peter greeted, enthusiastic as ever. Their driver responded with a curt nod, pulling out into the New York traffic.

Peter immediately started shooting off questions about the "conference," excitement shining in his eyes as he fidgeted nervously in his seat.

 _Always on the move_ , he thought fondly.

Tony just gave incredibly vague answers to all of Peter's queries, and felt his amusement rising as the kid got more curious the more Tony deflected.

"You're not going to tell me _anything_?" Peter whined.

"Nope."

"You're the _worst._ "

"You hold on to that feeling."

Peter just huffed, indignant.

A few minutes later, Happy pulled up beside the theater.

"Here, Boss."

"Thank you, Happy."

Tony took in Peter's wide eyed expression with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Surprise, kiddo."

For a second, Peter's mouth just opened and closed like a gasping fish. When he spoke, he sent Tony into peals of laughter.

"This isn't a bioengineering conference."

"No, Peter." Tony wheezed out. "No, it isn't."

"Are we," Peter's eyes lit up, looking at Tony as if he was just beginning to let himself believe in what was happening, "are we going to see Hamilton?"

"Yep! Now get out. You don't want to make us late, do you?"

The next second, Tony found himself with an armful of overexcited teenager.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Peter gasped, face pressed against Tony's neck.

"Yeah, well," Tony muttered, awkwardly patting his back, "how about we get going?"

Peter ripped himself away, hands instantly fumbling with the car handle. "Yes! Right! Let's go!"

Tony smiled, leaning over the kid to push the door open for him and give him a gentle shove. He waved a quick farewell to Happy before slipping out after him.

Tony spent the next hour letting Peter drag him through the interminable line for merchandise ("Peter, I can order you all of this online." "But it's not the same, Mr. Stark!") and then genuinely thought Peter might pass out when he saw their seats ("The front row, Mr. Stark!? This is- this is _amazing_!").

Frankly, Tony had no interest in the musical. As a kid, his parents had dragged him to the theater a few times, usually through bribery or threats. Later in life, he'd attended a few shows in a series of ridiculous attempts to seduce whatever girl he was chasing that week. Otherwise, Broadway was probably the last place Tony Stark ever wanted to be.

The look on Peter's face when the curtain first came up chased all those thoughts away.

Throughout the next two and a half hours, Tony spent very little time actually watching the stage. Instead, he opted to watch _Peter_ watch the show. The kid knew every song, no matter how convoluted the lyrics seemed to Tony, and excitedly sang along under his breath, eyes bright. He spent the intermission alternating between excitedly sputtering about the mechanics of the moving stage and breathlessly thanking Tony for bringing him.

Tony had listened to the first act just to gather enough material in order to embarrass Peter. Therefore, he was completely unprepared for what happened once the intermission came to a close.

He didn't expect it to hit him so hard when Philip Hamilton died.

It was stupid. Tony Stark was a grown man who, according to most, lacked even the most basic foundations of humanity. He was heartless. It was part of his reputation. And yet here he was, choking back tears at the death of a kid that had kicked it over two hundred years ago.

(He refused to acknowledge the fact that he didn't actually give two shits about Philip Hamilton, and that all of the emotion was coming from him imagining a different kid bleeding out on the floor.)

When the end of the second act came, Tony pretended not to notice the few tears that traced down that same kid's cheeks.

Peter was practically hanging off of Tony on the way out of the theater, talking a mile a minute as usual. Happy was waiting for them, and Tony couldn't help but notice the gleam of fondness in his driver's eyes as he watched Peter practically vibrate with enthusiasm.

 _This kid makes everyone fall in love with him,_ Tony thought.

With a smirk, Tony shook the kid off and sent him to go pose in front of the sign for a few pictures ("For his aunt, Happy. Wipe that damn smirk off your face or I'll make you wait in the car.") and then awkwardly accepted a stranger's offer to take a picture of the two of them.

Happy just stood to the side, smirk only widening as the kid shamelessly flung his arms around Tony for the photo, grinning from ear to ear.

And damn it, the kid's good mood must be contagious, because Tony couldn't stop himself from smiling just as broadly as he hugged him back.

"I'm deleting that as soon as we get home, kid." Tony quipped once they were both sitting in the car. Peter was smiling down at the photo displayed on his mentor's phone. "So get your fill now."

Peter just laughed, shaking his head. "No you aren't."

And if Tony did end up having the picture framed and placed in his office, it didn't mean anything.

* * *

Thank you so much for all your prompts! I've been working on them! I'm really excited to start getting them posted, but I thought I'd throw you guys some finished chapters in the meantime. As always, leave your reviews and prompts below! Tomorrow (today? WHEN DID IT GET SO LATE?) is going to SUCK, so please give me distractions. I love you all so much!


	5. Moderation is Key

AN: Hey guys! This is me playing with the idea of Tony having to pick Peter up from a party. I really enjoyed writing this one, so I hope it shows!

So, Peter has a grand mal seizure in this. Kind of a "fun" story: I had an isolated grand mal seizure of my own back in 2015. For the record, it was definitely NOT because of alcohol poisoning. I haven't had another one since, but it was definitely very scary and not a ton of fun. I talked to my parents (who saw it) and consulted my own memories of the experience to write this. In a way, I guess it was kind of therapy?

The POVs of this and the timeline are a little weird. Basically, you get some of the story from Peter's POV and then backtrack to hear Tony's. I'm pretty sure it all makes sense, but be forewarned that the timeline is a little wacky.

I'm working on the next chapter of And You'll Blow Us All Away, but it's taking a little longer to beat out than expected so I thought I'd give you guys this in the meantime! I also have a 5+1 that is _almost_ ready for its first chapter to come out and two random oneshots that are almost complete. Basically, a lot of stuff in the works. Hopefully it'll all be good!

Thank you so much for reading and leaving all of your wonderful reviews! I know I say it waaayyy too much, but they mean the world to me.

Anyway, I'll stop giving you my sappy ramble and let you get on to the chapter. Here we go!

WARNINGS: graphic descriptions of alcohol poisoning and a grand mal seizure

* * *

Peter had really fucked up this time.

When Flash had invited him and Ned to a party, Peter had _known_ it was an awful idea. But Ned had been so excited that Peter just couldn't ditch him.

So he went.

That was his first mistake.

And that mistake lead him to standing awkwardly in the corner of what was definitely the biggest house party he had ever seen, desperately trying to ignore the way every ounce of his common sense was screaming at him to get the hell out of there.

The things he did for his friends.

And Ned wasn't even with him. He'd disappeared nearly half an hour ago, and hadn't come back yet.

So, yeah, definitely not Peter's favorite night ever.

"Hey, Penis Parker!"

Peter winced at the sound of Flash's voice, glancing over to see the older boy sauntering through the crowded room with a smirk on his face.

This was _not_ going to be good.

"Come on, loser." Flash said, grabbing Peter roughly by his upper arm and hauling him across the room. "I've got something to show you."

Peter flushed, briefly considering breaking Flash's grip and making a break for the exit. It's not like he wasn't strong enough. Still, he'd rather not resort to ditching his best friend and becoming the laughing stock of yet _another_ high school party.

So he let Flash drag him to the backyard.

That was his second mistake.

When the backdoor opened, the first thing Peter noticed was Ned.

"Peter!" Ned yelled, smiling stupidly and almost spilling whatever it was that was in his plastic cup. "Flash found you!"

"Hey, Ned." Peter greeted, nearly stumbling into his friend as Flash released him only to give the teenager a hard shove in the back. "Uh, what're you doing?"

"Party stuff!"

"Uh, cool?"

Suddenly, Peter found a plastic cup, which identical to the one Ned was holding, thrust into his previously empty hands.

"Drink up, Parker." Flash sneered.

"What is it?"

"Vodka."

"It's _what?!_ " Peter spluttered, desperately trying to shove the cup back. "No way."

"C'mon, Peter," Ned whined, giving his arm and shove and almost toppling over in the process, "let's just have some _fun_ for once."

Peter paused, looking at the cup nervously.

He never did anything out of line. He was the model of a perfect, nerdy, _boring_ teenager. It dawned on him that maybe once, just _once,_ Peter Parker wanted to forget about the honor roll, forget about college applications, forget about _Spider-Man,_ and just be a kid.

He took his first sip.

That was his third mistake.

At first, Peter wasn't even sure that the alcohol would have any effect on him, considering his healing factor and enhanced metabolism. He remembered Mr. Stark once mentioning that Captain America couldn't get drunk, so he probably couldn't either. His theory seemed to be holding up when he didn't feel anything after his first few shots. Naturally, he decided that the most logical course of action was to just fill his cup to the brim and start chugging.

You know, for science.

Five minutes later he decided that that was probably his fourth, and biggest, mistake.

 _Holy shit,_ he thought, stumbling into the fence that blocked off Flash's backyard, _I feel weird as fuck._

Everything was spinning.

At first, the weightlessness was kind of nice. Peter just slid to the ground, slouching against the solid wood of the fence, and stared up at the sky in a daze. The stars were pretty, flickering and rotating slowly above him.

From there, things started to go downhill fast.

It was when Peter tried to recall a certain constellation and the name evaded him like he was grasping at fog that he started to panic. In a rush of adrenalin, he tried to jump to his feet, but he found, to his horror, that his arms and legs didn't obey his commands. Instead, he got halfway up before collapsing sideways, jamming his arm painfully against the ground on the landing.

No, Peter didn't like this at all.

And then came the nausea, roaring up his throat before he could identify exactly what it was.

Puking all over Flash's backyard was _not_ his proudest moment.

He was peripherally aware of a few partygoers making gagging noises around him, but the voices seemed to be filtering through water. He couldn't focus on anything. His vision was blurry, his reflexes were shot, his head was starting to ache, and Peter just wanted to go _home._

But even in his incredibly inebriated state, Peter knew he couldn't call May.

She was working late that night, something that was becoming more and more common recently. They needed the extra money, especially considering that fact that Peter's enhanced abilities came with an enhanced appetite.

Plus, he wasn't sure he would survive the disappointed look on his aunt's face when she saw him.

 _No,_ Peter thought, _I can't call May._

There was only one other option.

Peter surprised himself by managing to retrieve his phone from his back pocket without dropping it. He even managed to find the necessary number in his contacts despite his wavering vision.

It rang one before he picked up.

"Hello?"

"Mis'er Stark, I… I think somethin's wrong."

Peter heard panicked shuffling and the sound of a laptop being snapped open before Tony answered.

"Peter?! Are you hurt?"

"I dunno."

There was a pause, and Peter could hear Tony barking muffled orders to what he assumed must be F.R.I.D.A.Y.

"Hey, kid? Want to tell me why you're not in the suit right now?"

That confused Peter. Of course he wasn't in the suit. He was at a party. Why would he bring the suit to a party?

"'S a stupid idea."

"What's a stupid idea, Peter? Where are you?"

"Party."

For a few seconds, all Peter could hear on the line was tense silence.

"Peter," Tony said, voice nearly shaking with forced patience, "are you drunk?"

Peter considered the question for a moment, trying to unscramble his memories into a discernible timeline.

"Maybe?"

"What the _fuck,_ Peter?" The billionaire snapped, launching into a long spiel of profanity and reprimands that made Peter's aching head spin.

"Mis'er Stark?" Peter slurred, interrupting Tony's tirade. "C'n you c'me get me? I don'… I don' feel s' good."

Every ounce of anger in his mentor's voice evaporated.

"I'm on my way, kid. Lucky for you, I'm staying at the Tower for a few days. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Stay on the line with me until then, okay?"

"M'kay."

"You think you can make it to the front of the house?"

Just the thought of standing made Peter's stomach flip uncomfortably. He was abruptly reminded of the last time he tried to stand, and his wrist ached in response.

"No."

"Okay, kid. That's okay. You in the house?"

"Backyard."

"Stay where you are. Don't try to move. How much did you drink?"

"Lots."

"I need something more quantifiable, kiddo."

"Three cups? 'S wassit four?" Tony was asking a lot of questions. They just made Peter feel more tired.

"Of what, Peter? What did you drink?"

"Vodka?" The word felt weird in Peter's mouth.

Tony cursed again. He was doing a lot of that. Aunt May wouldn't approve.

After that, Peter decided that consciousness kind of sucked, so he was going on strike against it. He let himself float comfortably in the darkness that surrounded him, distantly aware of Mr. Stark's nervous voice filtering through his phone's speakers. Every once in a while, when his mentor's tone reached a particularly panicked pitch, he would try to make his mouth form some sort of noise so that the man would know he was still there.

"Peter? _Peter._ Answer me, Peter." Had Mr. Stark been talking this loud the whole time? Peter couldn't remember.

"Huh? 'M here." Speech was weird. He hadn't ever really thought about it before, but it was definitely weird.

"Alright. I'm pulling up now. I'll see you in a sec, okay?"

There was a click as Tony hung up.

Before he knew it, calloused hands were pulling Peter into a sitting position, patting his cheek gently.

"Open those peepers for me, kid."

Were his eyes not open? Peter didn't remember closing them.

"Peter?"

Tony sounded concerned. That was enough for Peter to force open his surprisingly heavy eyelids and try to focus on the blurry face above him.

"T'ny?"

Relief washed over the older man's face. "Yeah, kiddo, it's me. Let's get out of here. Honestly, this seems like a pretty shit party, anyway."

Peter realized that there was a joke in there somewhere, but he couldn't make himself process it right now. Instead, he just leaned gratefully into Tony as his mentor carefully pulled him to his feet.

"C'n walk." Peter muttered, although he made no move to extricate himself from Tony's firm but comforting hold.

"Yeah?" Tony snorted, readjusting his hold on Peter's waist to stop him from slumping sideways. "Tell me, Peter, what's 3 times 4?"

"'S a stupid question."

"Indulge me."

Peter thought about it for a second. He knew that he knew the answer, but it got lost in the jumble of mush that his mind had become.

Apparently, his silence was enough of an answer to his mentor.

"Yup, that's what I thought. Just lean on me."

The trip to the car was a painful, nauseating blur. The bass beat rattling the walls had a similar effect in his head, making his brain feel like it was sloshing around untethered. The colorful, flickering lights made his mouth water uncomfortably, an unwelcome reminder of the pool of sick sitting in the backyard. It seemed like Tony noticed his discomfort, because he wordlessly tucked Peter's head into his shoulder, blocking out the swirl of lights as best he could.

Peter was in and out on the car ride to the Tower. Every time the comforting cradle of unconsciousness started to settle around him, Tony would shake his shoulder and snap out a curt order for him to stay awake. It was annoying.

"Why c'n't you j's le' m' sleep?" Peter finally slurred, frustration briefly overcoming his exhaustion.

"Because you're a dumbass with alcohol poisoning. Good job on that, by the way."

Peter just woozily leaned against the window after that, opting to stay quiet rather than try to untangle another sarcastic quip from his mentor.

Tony had to bear most of Peter's weight during the elevator ride up to the penthouse. He'd started to feel extra weird after he'd nearly fallen out of the passenger's seat of one of Tony's expensive Audis. His blurry vision was now eclipsed by a large, pulsing spot. He'd reached out blearily to touch it, but Tony just caught his uncoordinated hand and pushed it back to his side with a huff.

"'S an alien."

"No, there's not. You're just drunk."

Tony couldn't see the spot too? That was weird. Peter was, like, 95% sure it was there.

Suddenly, his headache ratcheted up from an uncomfortable pounding to debilitating agony. Peter couldn't stop the strangled scream that tore through his throat, and he felt his weak legs drop right out from underneath him.

"Holy shit! Peter? Peter? What's wrong, buddy?" Tony's frantic voice sent knives of agony through his skull. He hands unconsciously gripped his head, fingernails digging painfully into his scalp as he desperately tried to rip the pain out.

 _Getitoutgetitoutgetitout._

The next thing he knew, everything went black.

* * *

Tony had gone through a rollercoaster of emotions since he'd picked up Peter's call.

At first, he'd been certain that Peter's slurred words and confusion were due to some terrible accident that had happened while he was out on patrol. His first reaction had been panic. Why hadn't the suit notified him that Peter had been injured? Where was he? Was he bleeding out in an alley somewhere, frightened and alone? Shit, he needed more information _yesterday._

But then F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him that Peter's suit was offline. The tracker showed that it was tucked away in his bedroom, and that the teenager hadn't even touched it since two nights ago.

Now, Tony was flat out confused. Did he get hurt _without_ the suit? A mugging, maybe?

When Tony asked the kid about the suit, Peter muttered something about a stupid idea, which made no sense, and then a word which Tony was pretty sure sounded like "party."

 _What the hell?_

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track him."

"Mr. Parker is currently at a residential complex in Queens. The security cameras in the area suggest that the owners of the property are hosting a party."

That was the moment that Tony's confusion morphed into tentative realization.

"Peter," Tony started, lacing his voice with as much patience as he could muster because he was pretty sure that he already knew the answer to this particular question, "are you drunk?"

"Maybe?"

He was going to fucking _kill_ him.

In hindsight, there were a few reasons why ranting at the kid at that exact moment was a bad idea. For one, there was no way Peter would remember any of Tony's stellar points in the morning. On top of that, Peter was still in the middle of a party, completely wasted and therefore terrifyingly vulnerable. It would probably be a better use of Tony's time to go rescue the damn teenager and _then_ yell at him.

In the end, though, it wasn't any of these logical realizations that stopped Tony's tirade. It was the kid's voice, weary and innocent and so fucking _trusting_ that it made him want to throw something, preferably a very heavy and breakable something, across the damn room.

"Mis'ter Stark? C'n you c'me get me? I don'… I don' feel s' good."

He crumbled.

At some point during his rant, Tony's legs had carried him to the Tower's garage and into the closest of his cars. He jerked the thing into reverse, slamming it out of the building in his haste to get to his kid.

He saw F.R.I.D.A.Y. plot the quickest route from the Tower to Queens, and muffled a curse when he saw how long the journey would take.

 _One step at a time, Stark._

First things first, he needed to know exactly how bad off Peter was. To do that, he needed to determine how much he'd had to drink, and what exactly he'd been drinking. Coincidentally, he also needed to keep the kid conscious. Hopefully, answering questions would help with that.

Killing two birds with one stone, and all that shit.

"You think you can make it to the front of the house, kiddo?" Tony questioned. The answer would help him gauge how wasted Peter actually was. If he could walk, he probably wasn't that bad off.

"No."

God, Peter sounded _awful._ His answer came pretty quickly too, which suggested that the kid had already tried standing and it had gone about as badly as Tony remembered from his college days.

He hoped he hadn't hit his head when he toppled over.

"Okay, kid. That's okay. You in the house?"

"Backyard."

Tony glanced at the thermostat on the dashboard. It was only 40 degrees outside. For a minute, Tony debated asking Peter if he was wearing a coat, but decided that it would sound _way_ too much like mothering and Tony wasn't willing to go that far today.

At least, he wasn't _yet._

"Stay where you are. Don't try to move. How much did you drink?"

"Lots."

Tony groaned.

"I need something more quantifiable, kiddo."

"Three cups? 'S wassit four?"

Well, cups weren't much of a better metric than "lots," but it was something. Tony decided to assume that Peter was talking about those shitty red solo cups that every kid inevitably got wasted out of at some point in their lives. He took a brief moment to hope against hope that Peter had drunk four cups of beer and not hard liquor before asking his next question.

"Of what, Peter? What did you drink?"

"Vodka?"

Either Tony was going to kill this kid, or this kid was going to kill Tony.

The rest of the drive consisted of Tony prodding the kid at varying intervals, usually getting only a grunt or a whine in response. A few minutes away from his location, however, the kid stopped responding all together.

"Damn it, Peter." Tony snapped, making his final turn and spotting the house about a block away. "If you die of fucking _alcohol poisoning_ I'm going to bring you back just so I can yell at you and then kill you myself."

No response.

"Peter? _Peter._ Answer me, Peter."

Tony wasn't proud to admit it, but he nearly cried with relief when the kid's slurred voice echoed over the line. "Huh? 'M here."

"Alright. I'm pulling up now. I'll see you in a sec, okay?"

Tony slammed his fist down on the button to end the call and scrambled out of the car, barely sparing the time to tear the keys from the ignition first. He winced when he pulled open the house's front door. The sights and smells brought back unwanted memories of drunken blurs and one night stands. Strobe lights flashed at a migraine inducing frequency. The air smelt more like alcohol than oxygen, and horny teenagers were drunkenly grinding against each other all around him. In the corner, some kid vomited into a potted plant.

 _Oh,_ Tony thought sarcastically, _the joys of youth._

It wasn't difficult to find Peter. A bunch of kids, all of whom were absolutely _smashed,_ were congregated in the backyard. Peter had stumbled away from them, and away from the unguarded pool, Tony noted thankfully, and was slouched against the fence furthest from the house.

He knelt beside the kid, noting his flushed cheeks and sweaty bangs with a pang of something that he refused to acknowledge as parental concern, and pulled him upright.

Peter winced, but otherwise didn't respond to the change in position.

Tony patted his cheek before gripping his chin in order to keep the kid's head from lolling painfully.

"Open those peepers for me, kid."

Peter's brows furrowed in concentration, but his eyes stayed shut.

"Peter?"

Finally, _finally,_ Tony found himself looking at Peter's bleary brown eyes. His pupils were way overblown, and he seemed to be struggling to focus on his mentor's face, but Tony found the sight indescribably relieving.

"T'ny?"

Good, Peter recognized him. Things would've been a lot more difficult, and a lot more alarming, if he hadn't. "Yeah, kiddo, it's me." Tony paused, wondering if this was the right moment to crack a joke. Probably not, but fuck it, Tony was stressed and if he couldn't use humor as a coping mechanism, what was the point? "Let's get out of here. Honestly, this seems like a pretty shit party, anyway."

Tony didn't expect a response, so he didn't wait for one. Instead, he snaked an arm around the younger boy's waist, tugging Peter's arm over his shoulders in the process, and pulled them both to their feet.

When Peter slurred some bullshit about being able to walk, Tony just rolled his eyes.

"Yeah? Tell me, Peter, what's 3 times 4?"

"'S a stupid question."

"Indulge me."

The kid fell silent, his face twisted in concentration. Tony sighed.

"Yup, that's what I thought. Just lean on me."

The party was still raging on when Tony pulled Peter through the house. He nearly dropped the kid in surprise when he let out a little whine as the music and light reached a peak.

He knew that Peter struggled with sensory overload ever since the spider bite. Hell, Tony had been the one to program contingencies and failsafes into his suit to help combat the issue. But he hadn't even thought about how sensitive Peter would be to stimulus when his barriers were lowered like this. He quickly pushed the kid's head against his neck, doing his best to cover his eyes and ears with his jacket, before shoving their way through the crowd as quickly as possible.

Reaching the front door and stepping out into the cool evening air was like a breath of relief. He tucked Peter into the passenger's seat and jogged around the hood of the Audi, loath to leave the kid unsupervised for even the briefest moment.

The drive back to the Tower was _exhausting._

He knew that he needed to keep Peter as coherent as possible, but the concept was a lot harder to apply in practice than in theory.

"Why c'n't you j's le' m' sleep?" Peter slurred at one point, trying but failing to sound snappy.

Tony's glare went to waste, since the kid's eyes were closed. "Because you're a dumbass with alcohol poisoning. Good job on that, by the way."

They didn't talk much after that. Peter just met his questions with grunts or shrugs.

At the Tower, Tony barely managed to catch Peter before he tumbled onto the concrete floor of the garage. The dumb kid had tried to get out of the car himself, forgetting that his coordination was shot to hell. Thankfully, the elevator was only a few feet away, since Peter seemed to have given up on trying to walk and just hung limply from Tony's arms as they stumbled along.

He was about to give F.R.I.D.A.Y. the order to take them to the penthouse when the kid said something about aliens, and Tony couldn't help but chuckle a little.

But then Peter screamed and just _dropped_ , and he suddenly didn't feel like laughing anymore.

"Holy shit! Peter? Peter? What's wrong, buddy?" Tony gasped, guiding Peter's thrashing body to the floor. The teenager was clawing at his head, eyes screwed shut in agony. Tony caught his arms and restrained him, suddenly thankful that the alcohol seemed to have put a damper his super strength.

And then as quickly as Peter had tensed, he went limp.

The hands that the kid had latched around Tony's forearms uncurled and his head lolled forward. If Tony hadn't been clutching him, Peter would have slumped, boneless, to the floor.

Then he started seizing.

The first convulsions jerked him out of Tony's unprepared grip, shoulder slamming against the floor. Luckily, the impact jolted Tony out of his shock enough for the older man to lunge forward and stop Peter's head from making contact with the elevator floor.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?! What…" Tony trailed off, fear freezing him in place.

"It appears that Mister Parker is experiencing a grand mal seizure. His blood alcohol content is currently 0.34% and he is suffering from alcohol poisoning. I believe this to be the cause of the seizure."

 _Fuck._

"What do I do?!"

"My medical databases indicate that you should move Mister Parker into the recovery position, pillow his head, and notify medical personnel if the seizure surpasses three minutes. I have taken the liberty of timing the event for you. He has been seizing for approximately 34 seconds."

Tony scrambled to follow his AI's instructions. Getting Peter onto his side was more difficult than he anticipated. The rhythmic muscle spasms worked against him, but he managed it. He tugged Peter's head into his lap, shakily running his fingers through the boy's sweat-soaked hair.

"Can he," Tony swallowed, "can he feel it?"

"Experiences differ. Some patients recall being aware of their surroundings during seizures while others remember nothing. It is impossible to tell into which of these categories Mister Parker will fall."

Tony nodded jerkily, continuing to brush Peter's hair gently.

"It's okay, Peter." He whispered, trying the block out the little grunts emanating from the teenager's mouth as the fit washed over him. "I'm right here. You're safe. It'll be over soon."

"Mister Parker has been seizing for approximately one minute. I have set the elevator's destination to the MedBay rather than your penthouse. Would you like me to notify Doctor Banner that you are in need of his assistance?"

"Y-yes." Tony winced at the stutter.

A moment later, Bruce's voice echoed around the elevator.

"Tony, what's wrong? F.R.I.D.A.Y. said there was an emergency."

"Peter's having a seizure!"

If Tony wasn't so terrified, he might have been embarrassed by how squeaky and juvenile his voice sounded.

Bruce instantly adopted his professional tone. "Where are you?"

"We're in the elevator, on the way to the MedBay."

"What happened?"

"The dumb fucking kid went to a party not drank four fucking _cups_ of vodka, Bruce. Not shots, _cups._ After everything, my kid is going to die because of fucking _alcohol poisoning_."

"He's not going to die, Tony. F.R.I.D.A.Y. says his vitals are stable for his condition, and I'm only a few floors away."

At that moment, the elevator doors pinged open.

"We just arrived at the MedBay. Do I move him?"

"Is he still seizing?"

"Yes."

"Stay where you are. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Peter's jerking started to subside, slowing from violent spasms to sluggish twitching.

"I… I think its stopping."

"Good." Bruce sounded breathless. "That's really good, Tony."

The kid's eyelids started to twitch, and then opened.

"Peter?" Tony asked, hand moving from the teenager's hair to his cheek. "Peter, can you hear me?"

There was no recognition in the kid's eyes. No spark of life. He just stared blankly up at the ceiling, muscles still jerking sporadically.

"He-he's opened his eyes but he's not… he's not _there_ , Bruce. Is he… what's wrong with him?"

Tony latched on to the easy calm in Bruce's voice like a lifeline. "That's very normal. He should phase in again soon. When he does, keep him calm. Call me back if he starts to seize again."

The elevator's PA system gave a small beep as Bruce ended the call.

Peter had finally fallen still, breathing steadying as his muscles relaxed. "Peter?"

The teenager blinked his eyes and, when he reopened them, there was intelligence there. He looked up at his mentor sluggishly, confusion painting his face.

"You're alright, kiddo."

Peter's mouth opened and closed, lips forming silently around the word "what."

Tony hesitated, but decided that concealing what happened would probably frighten the kid more. If he stayed calm, hopefully Peter would follow his lead. "You had a seizure, but you're okay now. It's over."

Peter just gazed up at Tony with complete trust in his eyes, nodding slowly.

"Once Bruce gets here, we're gonna fix you up. Are you in any pain?"

"Head."

Tony felt dizzy with relief at the sound of Peter's voice, even thought he only said one word and it was to convey that he was in pain.

"Okay, kiddo. Is it real bad?"

"No."

"Good. Hang in there."

It only took a few more minutes before Bruce came skidding around the corner, quickly composing himself before Peter could notice harried entrance.

"Hey there, Peter." The scientist greeted, smiling amiably as he knelt down next to the pair. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired."

"You can take a nap soon, but Tony and I need you awake for just a little longer. Think you can do that for us?"

"Think so."

"That's awesome, Peter. Can we move you?"

Peter nodded.

Bruce leaned over to Tony. "I don't want to use a stretcher. I think it might frighten him, and there's no reason to do that. Can you handle carrying him?"

Tony didn't answer. Instead, he just tucked Peter's head against his chest and slid his free arm underneath the teenager's knees.

"Going up, kiddo." Tony said, trying his best not to jostle the boy as he lifted him. He stubbornly ignored the twinge in his back.

 _Damn old age_ , Tony thought bitterly.

Bruce led the way into one of the medical rooms, and Tony settled Peter onto one of the beds before rushing over to where the other man was gathering equipment.

"Why the hell did he seize?"

Bruce barely flinched at the lingering panic evident in his friend's voice. He was getting accustomed to Tony's strange protectiveness of the kid.

"Sometimes alcohol poisoning can cause seizures. In fact, it's not all that uncommon. Luckily, his enhanced metabolism is already working in his favor. I'm going to hook him up to some IV fluids and then give him a quick neurological check, just to be safe. He can sleep after that, and I'll run an EEG and MRI while he's out."

"Why the MRI and EEG? You don't think he's got brain damage, do you? Is that why he's not talking properly?"

"Breathe, Tony." Bruce said gently, reaching up to grip his friend's arm. "I don't think anything is wrong. He only seized for about a minute and a half. I know it seemed like forever, but that's actually a very short seizure. He's responsive and conscious. The confusion and exhaustion are completely normal. I just want to be safe, okay?"

"Right. Yes. Safe. Good idea."

Bruce smiled indulgently, guiding him back to Peter's side. "Keep him calm for me, will you?"

"Right. Calm. On it."

"We're back, Peter." Bruce greeted softly, smothering a smirk at the way Tony instantly gravitated to the kid, sliding a guarding arm around his shoulders. "I have to put this IV in your arm. Is that okay?"

The boy shrunk into Tony's side, looking wide eyed and frightened.

"Hey," Tony crooned, gripping Peter's chin and tilting his head away from the arm Bruce was prepping for the IV, "just look at me, okay?"

Bruce got the needle in quickly, and Peter seemed to settle once the anticipation was over. While the kid seemed exhausted and leaned heavily against Tony, he easily followed Bruce's instructions throughout the neurological exam and had no alarming hesitations when answering his questions.

"Good job, buddy. We're all done. You wanna take a nap now?"

Peter nodded, eyes already slipping shut as he buried himself snugly into Tony. Bruce moved to Peter's IV, silently disconnecting it from the fluid bag in order to quickly inject a syringe into it. He held up a finger to his lips when Tony opened his mouth to protest, glancing pointedly at the dozing teenager.

Bruce back leaned against the wall, watching Peter's vitals stabilize in sleep just as Tony felt the boy go lax against him.

"I just gave him something to help him stay asleep." Bruce explained once he was sure Peter was out. "I don't want him to wake up and panic. His BAC dropped enough to make me feel comfortable doing it."

"You sure it won't hurt him?"

"Positive."

"Okay, then." Tony said, slowly extricating himself from Peter's grip. "Let's get these scans over with so I can crash."

Bruce just smiled empathetically, and got to work.

* * *

Fourteen hours later, Peter finally woke up.

Tony had a lot of plans for that moment. He wanted to scream, to make Peter understand just how much he'd fucked up, to convey to the kid just how _scared_ Tony had been.

In the end, Tony didn't do any of that.

He could identify the exact moment that the memories came back to Peter. Tears welled up in the kid's eyes, cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

And how could Tony yell at the kid when he looked so damn pathetic?

"I-I'm s-sorry." Peter stuttered, tears leaking out of his eyes despite his best efforts to contain them. "I r-really f-fucked u-up, didn't I?"

"Yeah, kid, you did." Tony said, moving from the chair to join Peter on the bed, maneuvering himself so he was sitting directly in the teenager's line of sight. "But, and listen up here, because we're going to have a moment and I don't want to repeat it, okay?"

"Okay." Peter sniffled.

"Sometimes," Tony paused, taking a moment to gather himself, "sometimes you're going to mess up, and that's okay. Did you make a bad decision? Yes. But you also did something right. Do you know what it was?"

"What?"

"You called me. The moment you realized something was wrong, you reached out to someone responsible. That was a good move, kid."

Peter just stared at him, tears sliding down his cheeks.

Tony took a deep breath.

"C'mere, kiddo." He shifted over so he could tuck the kid against his chest, feeling warmth blossom in his stomach as Peter sunk into the contact.

Tony had never been good with emotions. Anyone who knew him could tell you that. But right now, there were things he needed to say. Things he needed Peter to understand.

"You scared the shit out of me, Peter." Tony whispered, voice slightly muffled by the kid's mop of hair. "Don't… don't ever do that again, okay? My old heart can't take it."

There was a moment where neither of them said anything. They just breathed, with Peter locked against his heartbeat like he belonged there.

"It's not my fault you're getting old." Peter whispered, and Tony heard the unsaid echoes of _I'm sorry, I won't do it again, I love you_ hidden in the joke.

"At least I'm not young enough to be in diapers."

 _I love you too, kid._

* * *

AN: The spot that Peter sees is actually an aura. They sometimes happen before seizures. Some people smell things, or hear things, but a common one is seeing a spot in your vision. I had a big, glowing crescent moon across half my vision before my seizure, so I imagine Peter's was a little like that too.

Also, I don't actually remember my seizure. That's why I chose to have Peter not remember it, either. I remember the aura and then going to sleep, a weird hazy period where my head hurt like a bitch before blacking out again, and then waking up and feeling insanely disoriented for a long time.

Quick disclaimer too: I'm not a doctor. All of the medical information for this story came from my experience at the hospital and all of the research I did. Peter's BAC is well above what any normal human could stand, but with his metabolism and his super healing, I feel like he wouldn't die. Call it the author taking liberties.

Thank you so much for reading! You know the drill: leave any prompts or comments below! I love you guys!


	6. Baby It's Cold Outside

AN: Hey guys! This chapter is dedicated to StormBerryMC, who left the following prompt:

"What if the heat in peter's house gets turned off at some point in the winter, and Peter gets home from school to find a freezing house and May still at work. So he'd probably try to suffer through it for awhile, but then decides to head over to Tony's. Maybe Peter's still pretty cold when he gets there, and Tony eventually finds out what's going on."

Listen, my bro, I'm honestly not sure if this is even anywhere NEAR what you wanted, because OH BOY did The Muse do her thing with this. I hope it isn't a complete letdown and that it at least satisfied a teensie bit of your craving.

In other news, I actually did a lot of research into hibernation for this chapter. Enough to know that this is scientifically incorrect in a couple of ways. So, please just kindly ignore any inconsistencies if you happen to be a biologist or something.

On another note, biobeds are a Star Trek thing and I know that, but I'm taking the liberty of assuming that Tony Stark is smart enough to create one.

I've decided that a fun (and possibly VERY dangerous?) drinking game would probably be reading all of my fics and taking a shot every time I mention Tony messing with Peter's hair. Apparently, I have a problem. Am I going to stop? Absolutely not.

* * *

It was _cold_.

New York had been hit by a blizzard, and every newspaper was reporting on some of the lowest temperatures the city had seen in years. When Peter last checked, it was only five degrees outside.

He had felt weird ever since the temperatures had plummeted, but today was especially bizarre. He felt lethargic and foggy, as if all his body wanted to do was shut down and nap. No matter how much soda and coffee he chugged, he couldn't shake the ever-present need to just curl up in a warm hole and _sleep._

But he didn't have time for that. May was working late, and he had homework to do before he could go out and patrol. So, he made the exhausting and, courtesy of New York's newest weather phenomenon, frigid walk back to his apartment. When he got to his door, he fumbled the key out of his pocket with less coordination than he thinks he ought to have had even considering the cold, and found himself nearly salivating at the prospect of a warm room.

He shoved the door open and was surprised when he wasn't met with the usual wash of warm air.

In fact, the room was almost colder than outside. Besides blocking out the vicious winds that sent sprays of stinging snow into his face, being inside didn't seem much better than being out in Central Park.

Did May forget to put the heating on? He stumbled over to the thermostat and poked at it with fingers that felt like thick icicles. The heating was on, all right. It just wasn't working.

Because of course the heating in Peter's apartment would fail during one of the coldest winters New York had ever experienced. Parker luck was, after all, the worst luck.

May wouldn't be home until the next morning, and he wasn't supposed to call her during her shift unless it was a dire emergency. As cold as he was, Peter didn't really think this qualified.

Besides, he wasn't even shivering anymore. That was a good thing, right? And everyone else was dealing with the temperature just fine. There's no reason why he couldn't, either.

He grabbed two comforters from the closet and wrapped them around himself as he tried to force his uncooperative fingers to write out the equations he'd been assigned in Calculus. After nearly five minutes, he managed to get the first line of figures written, but found himself staring at the numbers and signs stupidly. He knew that he knew how to do the problem. He really did. But for some reason, his thoughts seemed to flow like molasses. The more he stared at the paper, the more he felt both his mind and body slump into the haze that had been buzzing around him all day.

Peter shook himself abruptly, trying to force himself back to reality. Obviously, homework wasn't going to happen. Maybe patrol would wake him up enough that he could finish it later.

He pulled on his suit and tried to greet Karen cheerfully, but found that the words felt slow and thick on his tongue.

"Hey Karen." Was that his voice? Why did it sound like he was speaking them through a mouthful of syrup?

"Hello, Peter. Your body temperature is currently 95.3. That is dangerously low. Would you like to contact Mister Stark, or shall I?"

"Huh?" Why was Karen talking so quickly? "Uh, no, 'm fine."

"I am not programmed for that option, Peter. If you do not call Mister Stark, I will. Which do you prefer?"

"I-I'll just, uh, s-swing over there. 'S not far." He forced his frozen legs to carry him over to the fire escape, jumping down and shooting a web before Karen could voice her first protest.

"That is not wise, Peter. Your reflexes are likely compromised."

He ignored her. In all honesty, he doesn't think he could answer her even if he wanted to. It was taking all of his concentration to keep himself from tumbling into the busy streets below.

Stark Tower hovered like a beacon of hope on the horizon. Peter was nearly spent by the time he swung onto the penthouse balcony. He stumbled into the door, too weary and fucking _cold_ to shove his hand against the censor that opened it.

Thankfully, Tony happened to be in the main living space and instantly noticed the teenager on his roof.

The door swung open, and Peter collapsed forward against a strong chest.

"Whoa! What's wrong with you, huh?" The words were flippant, but there was frantic concern in the billionaire's tone. A calloused hand touched Peter's icy cheek, and his mentor balked. "What the hell, Peter? You're freezing."

"'M cold."

"No shit, Parker." He felt himself being hauled into the warmth of the apartment. It made him even sleepier. "You feel like a fucking human icicle. How long have you been out?!"

Karen answered for him. "Peter has been in the suit for approximately twenty three minutes."

"But that's not… F.R.I.D.A.Y., run a scan. What the hell is wrong with him?"

Peter found himself being deposited onto a plush couch. He tried to reach out for his mentor, who was pacing nervously in front of him while his AI ran her bio scans, but it felt like his brain was disconnected from his body. He was telling his arm to lift, but all he got was a weak jerk in return.

"The scans indicate a series of strange abnormalities in Mr. Parker's biochemistry."

"Doesn't tell me much, FRI."

"The data I've collected from my scans and Peter's suit show that he is exhibiting symptoms that have striking similarities to behaviors certain species of mammals and arachnids show prior to hibernation."

"He's… he's _what_?"

"Hibernation is a semi-dormant state that many species of animals-"

"Jesus, F.R.I.D.A.Y., that's not what I was asking. What do you mean by _symptoms_?"

"Mister Parker's body temperature has been steadily dropping. The AI in his suit informs me that it was at 95.3 when Peter left his apartment. It is now 94.8. His lack of coordination and decreasing coherency is likely due to the fact that his body is entering the first stages of the hibernation cycle. His brain waves are reduced from their usual levels and it appears that his usually rapid metabolism has slowed below the average levels for even an unenhanced individual."

"Humans don't hibernate, FRI."

"Not usually, no. However, Mister Parker's DNA is bound with arachnid characteristics. The species of spider which bit him must be a type that hibernates during colder temperatures. The abnormal cold snap New York has been experiencing likely triggered the process."

"Fucking _amazing._ You hear that, Peter? Somedays, I think you're actually _trying_ to give me a heart attack."

All Peter could do was blink slowly at his mentor, who had forgone his pacing in favor of kneeling in front of the dazed teen. Tony looked surprisingly worried. Peter didn't really understand why. He didn't feel sick. Now that he was in the warm apartment, he just felt sleepy.

"How do we counteract it, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"I am unsure. An analysis of a blood sample may help me in determining the proper course of action. It may also be helpful to move Mister Parker to the MedBay. I can monitor his vitals more accurately there."

"Yes! Good idea." Tony's hand was back on Peter's face. "Hey there, kiddo. Wanna go for a quick walk?"

He really didn't, but Tony looked frightened and Peter didn't like that. Maybe doing what he said would make him less worried.

"M'kay."

Next thing he knew, Tony was tugging him to his feet. He'd forgotten that he had feet. That was weird. They didn't really want to cooperate with him.

"How're you feeling, Pete?" Tony asked, lugging the teenager over to the elevator. "Talk to me."

Talking. Mouth. Words.

"Tired."

"Yeah, well, your body is trying to fucking _hibernate_ , so I'm not surprised."

"Warm."

"You're _warm_?"

"No. You."

" _I'm_ warm? Yeah, Peter, no shit. You're a human popsicle right now. You could even give Cap a run for his money. Jesus, you feel like ice but you're not even shivering."

"Wha'?" Nothing Mister Stark was saying was making any sense.

His mentor made a strangled noise in his throat as the elevator stopped at the MedBay. "This is normal, right, F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

"Mister Parker's lowered temperature and subdued brain activity are the cause of his lethargy. While abnormal, my scans are not detecting that he is in any danger. His limited state of consciousness is no concern."

"It's fucking unnerving, though." Tony grumbled. He helped push Peter up onto one of the biobeds and redirected his words to the teenager rather than the AI. "Alright, Peter. I need to take a blood sample. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Blood sample." The words felt thick in his mouth. Forcing them out was a lot harder than he thought it should be.

"Yes. Good. Glad we're on the same page." Tony prepped the syringe and then wiped Peter's arm with an alcohol swab. "Sorry, buddy, I know you hate this."

Did he hate this? Peter thinks so. But for some reason, he didn't really care. He just watched listlessly as his mentor slipped the needle into his arm.

Tony pushed a cotton ball against the small bubble of blood on his inner elbow as he withdrew the needle and stuck a Spider-Man bandaid over it. "There you go, kiddo. All done." He shoved the vial into a machine before coming back over and squinting into his eyes. "You with me at all?"

"Hmm."

"Yeah. So no, then." Tony's hand brushed through the teenager's hair. Peter leaned greedily into the touch. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Should I be keeping him awake?"

"It is unclear whether or not keeping Mister Parker conscious will be beneficial. As it is, I estimate that he will reach a state within which you will be unable to rouse him in the next hour."

There was a glimmer of… _something_ that told Peter that F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s words should distress him, but he was too tired for emotions.

Tony, however, was evidently not. He looked like he was about half a second away from a panic attack.

"Okay. Okay. Everything's fine. We're fine. You're going to be fine, Peter."

"Course I will. Have you."

He thought the words might make his mentor smile. Instead, they just made him choke on a breath. "That's right, buddy. You've got me." Tony's hand was carding through his curls again. It was nice. "F.R.I.D.A.Y.? You got that blood analysis yet?"

"My scans indicate that Mister Parker's state is indeed being caused by the arachnid traits fused into his DNA."

"Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y., that's entirely unhelpful." Peter started tilting sideways, and Tony rushed to help him lie flat on the bed. "What do I _do_ about it?"

"I would suggest reaching out to Doctor Banner. He is, after all, an expert in the field of mutant DNA and is familiar with Peter's specific variations."

The world was graying out around the edges now, but Peter didn't feel too worried. He was safe and warm and he could still feel Mister Stark's hand in his hair. Everything would be alright. He could check out now. Mister Stark would handle it.

He was only distantly aware of the phone conversation wafting over his head.

"Banner! It's Peter."

"Isn't it always? What did he do this time?"

"He's hibernating."

"Excuse me, Tony. Please repeat that. He's _what_?!"

"I'm not fucking with you, Bruce. It's in the negative temps here and apparently Peter's spider DNA is biting us in the ass."

"Spiders can't thermoregulate. They either die or hibernate in the winter."

"Bingo."

"Shit. Is he still conscious?"

Suddenly, the fingers that had been brushing against Peter's scalp moved to make snapping noises in front of his face. "Peter?"

Some of the frothy darkness receded from the periphery of his vision as Peter looked up lazily at his mentor. "Hi."

"Hi." Tony gave him a reassuring smile before going back to addressing Bruce. "Barely. What do I do, Bruce? F.R.I.D.A.Y. said that the cold was causing all this shit. Will warming him up help?"

"Probably not, Tony. Animals don't stop hibernating when it gets warm. The signal comes from their hypothalamus. It's a chemical reaction that works depending on an internal body clock. We'll have to synthesize that chemical and inject it manually."

"How long will that take?"

"Maybe a day, once I get there."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. said he's get less than an hour of consciousness left in him."

"Then let him sleep, Tony. F.R.I.D.A.Y. sent me his vitals. You, me, and her will all be monitoring him. I'll be there in a couple of hours, and then we'll synthesize an antidote, if that's what we're calling it, and get to work on a more permanent solution. Peter can even help us with that one."

"I don't like this, Bruce."

"I know you don't, Tony, but you don't have much of a choice."

"Alright. Just… get here quickly, alright? No pit stops."

"I'm on my way. I'll see you in a bit, Tony."

The next thing Peter knew, Tony was tapping his cheek gently. "Hey, buddy. You still awake?"

At some point during the conversation, Peter's eyes must have slipped shut. Opening them took a lot of work, but it was worth it to see Mister Stark. "Think so."

His mentor took a shaky breath before forcing a comforting smile across his face. "You can tap out, now. I bet you're tired."

Peter was _exhausted_ , but something hitched in Mister Stark's voice as he spoke and it make the teenager uncomfortable. "Sure?"

"Yeah, Peter, I'm sure. And when you wake up, Bruce and I might have a little project for you to work on. How's that sound?"

"'S good."

"Good." The hand was back in his hair again. "Goodnight, Peter."

The darkness welcomed him with open arms.

* * *

Peter woke up slowly.

Once, he'd gone to this indoor trampoline park with his school. They'd had these huge pits full of foam blocks that you could flip into. He and Ned had spent a good hour trying as many different flips and jumps as they could dream up. It had been a lot of fun, but climbing out of the foam had made his body feel like it was weighed down with lead.

Waking up felt a lot like climbing out of that massive foam pit all over again.

He could feel his body and he could hear the steady beeping of monitors, but everything felt distant and heavy. Someone's hand was resting flat against his chest. Peter focused all his efforts into opening his eyes, but all he managed was a flicker of movement.

Even as weak as it was, the flutter didn't go unnoticed.

The hand curled into a fist around the fabric of Peter's shirt. "Peter? Buddy? You coming back?"

Coming back? Where had he gone? This time, his eyelids opened to slits before falling shut again.

"Almost there, kiddo. Try again. Third time's a charm."

Tony was right. Then again, Tony was always right. This time, his eyes opened and stayed that way.

His mentor's tired but cheerful face was the first thing he saw. "Good morning, Peter."

"Hi."

Tony squinted at him for a second before responding. "What do you remember?"

Peter thought hard. He remembered the heating being off in his apartment, and his Calculus homework, and then swinging to Stark Tower and then…

And then Mister Stark's worried face and tense voice. Being so, _so_ tired. Falling asleep to the feeling of calloused fingers in his hair.

"Spiders can't thermoregulate?" Peter offered, giving his mentor a dopey smile. "'S not good. Someone should fix that."

"I don't think it's that big of a problem for your arachnid brethren, kiddo, but it's _definitely_ a problem for you. Bruce is on it. Don't worry. For now, though, you'll have to get a little shot every 24 hours until we come up with a more permanent solution."

"That often?" Man, Peter _hated_ needles.

Tony laughed. "Glad to have you back, kiddo. I thought I'd lost you for good the moment you didn't even flinch when I drew your blood. Usually you cry like a baby"

"I do _not._ "

"You kinda do, kiddie."

Peter rolled his eyes, and then shivered. Tony noticed, and flipped a switch on the side of the bed. Almost instantly, both the mattress and the blanket covering him started emanating a soothing warmth.

As Peter sank into the comforting heat, his mentor gave him a tired smile. "We'll have to watch out for that, too. It doesn't look like you're gonna handle being cold all that well. A life in the Bahamas might be in your future."

"Doesn't sound too bad. Is there a good college in the Bahamas?"

"It was a joke." Tony deadpanned, glaring at the little smirk quirking the corner of the kid's mouth. "Bruce'll whip up something to counteract all this and you'll be off to MIT before you know it."

Peter giggled. "What if I don't wanna go to MIT? I hear Stanford is a lot warmer."

"Watch it, kiddo."

"Aren't I allowed to make my own decisions?" There wasn't any accusation in the teenager's voice, although he did fake a pout.

"Of course you are, just as long as all your decision involve MIT."

"Tony?" Bruce's voice sounded from the doorway. Every syllable was laced with poorly concealed amusement. "Stop torturing my patient, would you?"

"Never." Tony gave the teenager's chest a little pat. "Sorry, kid. You're stuck with me."

Peter smiled. He didn't mind that at all.

* * *

AN: I'm sorry for any mistakes. I finished this literally an hour ago, and only went through it once or twice to check for spelling and grammar.

Thank you so much for reading! As always, I cherish every single one of the reviews you guys leave me. I'm still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that so many of you are enjoying my stories. I love you all!


	7. The Son You Always Had

AN: So, I was trolling through my old computer and found this chapter that I, somehow, completely forgot about? This is one of the first irondad pieces I ever wrote, which is wild. I polished it up a little, but otherwise left it as the fossil it is.

* * *

Peter was in his AP Calculus class when he got the text.

 _Not-So-Happy: Be ready after school. Boss wants you for a mission._

He was so excited he almost fell out of his chair.

"Dude," Ned hissed, glancing back and forth between the front of the classroom and Peter, "what is it?"

Peter shoved his phone into Ned's hands under the guise of borrowing a pencil and tried his best not to grip his desk tight enough to bend the flimsy metal.

"Peter!" Ned's voice squealed up an octave. "This is so cool! What do you think you're gonna do?" He quieted only briefly when one of their classmates shot them a look. "Do you think you're gonna fight aliens?"

"I don't know!" Peter hissed back, jittering in his seat. "Man, Mister Stark _never_ lets me come on missions. It must be _huge._ "

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Peter fudged his way through a Spanish test and scrambled to complete the Captain America Fitness Challenge in Gym. It seemed like a lifetime had passed before he was finally sitting in Physics, his final class of the day.

He couldn't stop himself from glancing back at the clock every other minute.

"Mister Parker?" His teacher finally snapped, her lips pressed tightly together. "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

"No, Mrs. Warren. Sorry."

Peter had to stop himself from webbing out the door once the bell rang, vaulting over his desk in his hurry to get outside.

Happy was leaning against the car, sunglasses firmly in place and StarkPhone in hand, when Peter skidded across the sidewalk. He didn't say anything to acknowledge Peter's excitable appearance, just jerked his head towards the backdoor as he slid into the driver's side.

"Happy!" Peter gasped out as he flung himself onto the luxury car's plush leather seats and fumbled with his seatbelt, fingers numb with excitement. "So, what's the mission?! I have the suit, obviously. I mean, it's just a coincidence that I have it today. It's not like I carry it all the time, that'd be stupid, wouldn't it? I was just, you know, planning on patrolling later and, never mind, you don't care, do you? Anyway, where do you need me? I've been-"

Peter cut himself off as the privacy screen slid up between him and Happy.

"Thanks a lot, Happy." Peter sighed, listlessly pulling _Fahrenheit 451_ out of his bag. He might as well get some studying in before he went off the save the world.

* * *

"Just go to the usual elevator. F.R.I.D.A.Y. will take you to Mister Stark."

"Thanks, Happy!"

The new Compound never failed to make Peter feel small. The hallways were massive, and the ceilings had been designed to accommodate the Hulk, so they towered over his head dizzyingly. Every inch of the place looked like it was brand-new and polished beyond Peter's comprehension. Hell, it even _smelled_ like fanciness.

"Hi, F.R.I.D.A.Y.!" Peter exclaimed as he bounced into the elevator, taking in the fancy varnish and wooden panels as if he was seeing them for the first time. "Can you take me to Mister Stark? He has a mission for me!"

"Hello, Peter." The AI responded, friendly as ever. "I've informed Mister Stark of your arrival. I have instructions to deliver you to the debriefing room."

"Thank you!"

"My pleasure."

The elevator doors had barely opened before Peter was barging out, flinging the door to the debriefing room open and talking before he even registered who was inside.

"Mister Stark! I aced that project for robotics lab! Thank you so much for your help on it. Oh! What are you we doing? I'm ready for anything, obviously, but, like, what exactly are we…"

Peter's brain suddenly registered the fact that it wasn't just his mentor in the room. The Avengers, including the ones who had been recently pardoned, were sitting around the conference table, staring at him with varying levels of surprise and amusement.

"Holy _shit._ " He said, staring around the room in shock.

"Watch your language." Tony said, trying but failing to sound reprimanding. It was obvious that the man was trying _very_ hard not to laugh at his protégé. "Those words are for adults."

"Oh my _god_ ," Hawkeye spluttered from across the room, humor lacing his words, "are you _parenting_ him right now?"

"Laugh it up, bird-brain." Tony snapped, but there was no weight behind the tone.

The archer opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Dr. Banner.

"Leave him be, Clint." The scientist flashed a smile at the teenager. "Nice to see you again, Peter."

"Hi, Bruce." Peter said, giving his other man a shy wave.

"Wait," Clint said, looking back and forth between Peter and Bruce, "do you two know each other now? Why wasn't I invited to the 'meet Tony Stark's son-not-son party'? Frankly, I'm incredibly insulted."

"Are we done?"

Peter turned to look at the new voice. He nearly fainted when he saw who it belonged to.

Captain freaking _America_ was standing by the door, arms cross and eyebrows raised expectantly.

At first, Peter felt a lot like he did when a teacher reprimanded him in class. All he wanted to do was shrink back into Tony, head hung low and mouth zipped shut.

And then he looked at his mentor, the man who has stepped into his life after the Vulture and offered nothing but unwavering support, and he remembered how twitchy the older man been since the Civil War, since Siberia. He remembered how gingerly he'd moved for weeks, how beat up his face had looked.

Peter felt anger swell up in his chest.

"What are _you_ doing here?" He snarled. At the edge of his vision, he saw Tony flinch backwards, eyes swiveling to stare at Peter in surprise.

Captain America looked shocked, too.

 _Good._

The hero took a step forward. "Excuse me?"

Peter scrambled to place himself protectively between Tony and the bigger man, body coiling in preparation for a fight. "Stay _away_ from him."

Steve raised his hands nervously, staring at Peter as though he were a frightened animal.

And _oh my god_ did it just piss him off even more.

"Listen, Pete-"

"Don't fucking call me that."

"Okay." Steve cocked his head to the side, sizing the teenager up calculatingly. "I don't plan on doing anything to Tony, Peter."

"But you _did._ "

Steve flinched as if he'd be slapped, and shame swept across his face like a winter storm.

"Yeah, Peter. I did."

From the other side of the room, Black Widow spoke for the first time.

"It's all worked out, kid. We're a team again."

To his shame, frustrated tears sprang into Peter's eyes. None of them understood. They didn't know what it was like to watch your hero come back _broken_. "Y-you weren't _here._ You _left._ " He spat, sniffling pitifully. "You b-betrayed h-him, a-and th-then you just _left_."

"Peter," Tony's voice sounded gently behind him, "calm down, kiddo."

He swung around, blocking out everyone else in the room besides his mentor.

"You want me to be _calm_? These people _fought you._ You tried to compromise and they didn't give a shit. Steve nearly beat you to death, and you think I'm just going to waltz in here and be fucking _calm_?"

Tony strode up to him, gripping his shoulders firmly.

"Look at me, Peter."

He met his mentor's gaze, and felt tears finally break free when he blinked, sliding down his face and dripping off his chin.

"Oh, _Peter._ "

"Y-you were s-so… s-so _messed up_ when you c-came b-back. And… and I know you b-blame yourself and you _shouldn't_. I-I… I j-just don't want them here, Mister Stark. I don't want them here."

"Listen, Peter," Tony said, swiping a knuckle across his cheek to disrupt the flow of tears, "I know you don't want to hear this, but we need them. You're a great kid. I've never known you to hold a grudge. I'm ready to forgive them if you are."

He stared at Tony's face for a second, searching his eyes for something he couldn't explain.

He found it, and he let the emotion spark in his own gaze, too.

 _A candle lighting a candle._

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, okay."

Tony nodded jerkily. "Good, because we've got a job to do."

There was a brief moment of silence, and then Clint piped up from his spot at the table.

"So… is he your kid or what?"

Tony took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "No, Clint."

"Liar."

Bruce's murmur wasn't meant to travel, but Peter's enhanced hearing caught it anyway. "See? That's what _I_ said."

Steve strode over to the rest of the group, quickly composing himself. He looked every inch the leader that Peter had heard so many stories about.

"Alright," Steve said, leaning heavily against the table, "so we've got a Hydra base to raid and no time to lose. Let's get started."

Peter started. "Wait, we're raiding a Hydra base?"

Steve barely spared him a glance, but Tony gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"The base is located in the outskirts of Stuttgart. Their security is tight, so there's almost no chance of getting in undetected. The plan is to draw their forces into combat and try to scatter them. Clint and Nat, you're going to work stealth. Try to scope around their defenses while the rest of us distract the main attack forces. Tony, Sam, you're our eyes in the sky. Your main focus is to cover the rest of us on the ground, but your secondary objective is to scan for weaknesses from above. If you see one, exploit it, or pass the data on to someone else that can. Lucky for you, Spidey, the complex is situated in a wooded area, so there are lots of trees for you to web around from. Your job is the same as mine: distract and divert. Do anything you can to divide and confuse their units. Banner is hanging back in the jet as medical, but under no circumstance is it a Code Green. We're too close to residential areas to risk it. Are we understood?"

Peter nodded along with the rest of the team, feeling his anger dissolve into background noise as he focused on the task at hand.

"Alright. Suit up and meet me at the jet."

At the dismissal, Tony grabbed Peter's arm and pulled him out the door, heading in the direction of his lab.

The moment the lab's door closed, Tony spun Peter to face him, leaning forward a little so their eyes were even.

"I'm sorry I didn't warn you about them being here, Peter." Tony said. "I didn't realize how much being around Steve would upset you. But I swear to you, he will not hurt you. Even if he tried, I would stop him. You don't have anything to be afraid of."

Peter just stared at his mentor for a second before responding. "I'm… I'm not afraid of him like that."

"There's no reason to be ashamed of it, Peter. He beat you up, dropped a jet bridge on you, and then I didn't go a good enough job of hiding the injuries he gave me in Siberia. And all of those are on me, okay kid? It's completely normal to feel-"

Peter cut him off abruptly. "That is _not_ why I was upset."

"Then why...?"

Peter just laughed. It was harsh and full of bitterness. "Because he nearly beat you to death, Mister Stark. I'm not scared of him. I'm fucking _furious._ "

Tony flinched back and stared. Peter could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"Peter…" His mentor paused, took a deep breath, and plowed forward. "I don't want to relive it all right now, not when we need to be focusing on a mission, but I need you to understand that mistakes were made by both sides in Siberia. Steve and I have talked. We're not good yet, not by a long shot, but we're on our way there, okay? What happened in Siberia, it… it isn't going to happen again."

Peter paused, letting Tony's words sink in slowly. "I don't like him."

"You don't have to. But if you go on this mission, you do have to work with him. That means watching his back, and trusting him to watch yours. If you don't think you can do that, that's fine. You can sit this one out. No one will judge you for making that call."

Peter was already shaking his head before Tony could finish. "No. I'm coming."

Tony nodded, giving his shoulder a boisterous pat with one hand and reaching ruffling his hair with the other. "Then suit up."

* * *

The flight to Stuttgart took 8 hours, which was still almost an hour and a half shorter than it would have taken on a commercial jet, thanks to Tony's technology. Peter spent the flight sitting right next to his mentor, picking away at his homework while the older man tapped at his StarkPhone, one arm slung casually around Peter's shoulders. To anyone else, it looked like Tony was conducting important business. In reality, the billionaire was playing Candy Crush.

Every once in a while, Tony would catch one of his teammates staring at the pair from across the cabin, eyes filled with a series of emotions that Tony couldn't untangle.

He opted to ignore the looks. Instead, he leaned over and raised an eyebrow at the scrawling equations littering Peter's paper.

"Derivatives?" Tony questioned, eyebrows raised. "Isn't that a little… elementary for you?"

Peter sighed, stifling a yawn. "Yeah, but a bunch of kids needed to review them."

Tony rolled his eyes. "You ought to be in advanced classes."

"This is for AP Calculus, Mister Stark."

"Even more advanced."

"Aunt May didn't want me skipping any grades. She said it would be bad for my emotional development, or something."

They slipped back into comfortable silence, Peter dutifully recording all of his work and Tony playing on his app while trying to ignore the way the other Avengers kept pointedly staring.

"So," Clint said sometime later, startling Tony out of his reverie. He hasn't even noticed that he'd zoned out, staring at the same level on his phone for god knows how long, until the archer had spoken, "you're like, what, twelve?"

Peter glared. "I'm almost sixteen."

Tony prodded the kid in the side playfully. "You know, putting 'almost' as a qualifier for your age just makes you seem even younger."

"And you're not Tony's kid?"

Tony practically growled at Clint, unconsciously tensing the arm that was wrapped around Peter. "Shut your fucking mouth, Barton. I already said he wasn't."

The archer just shrugged, and the plane fell back into uncomfortable silence for the rest of the flight.

There was a flurry of activity when the jet landed. Tony made sure to keep a firm grip on Peter, only letting go to let the Iron Man suit engulf him.

As soon as Steve finished his quick pre-mission debrief, just to check that everyone was still clear on their positions, Tony pulled Peter aside and looked at him intensely.

He'd been doing a lot of that, today. Parenting was exhausting.

"You stay safe, okay?" Tony said. "If I tell you to get back to the jet and stay put, you better glue that skinny ass into one of those seats and do as you're told. I don't give a shit what Cap tells you to do, all my orders trump his when it comes to your safety. Am I understood?"

Peter nodded, practically buzzing with anticipation.

"Good luck, kid."

Launching into the air and leaving his kid on the ground felt like tearing himself in two.

 _He'll be okay._ Tony told himself. _He has to be._

* * *

Peter was not okay.

In fact, if there was a spectrum of okay, he'd be on whichever side was the furthest from it.

"We're secure up here." Sam's voice crackled across the comms. He'd manage to find a way through Hydra's security shield and had cleared the portion of the base that was above ground.

"Same from below." Natasha replied. It had taken her all of four minutes to slip past the front lines, using the chaos of battle as an advantage, and slink into the underground tunnels.

"Good job, everyone." Steve said, voice all righteousness and professionalism. "Let's leave the cleanup to SHEILD and head back to the jet."

"Pizza party, anyone?" Clint said, voice jovial and light. "Tony's paying."

Peter heard his mentor grumble as the rest of the team's voices clambered to make their own opinions for dinner plans known.

He wanted to join in. He really, _really_ did. He'd just completed his first mission with the freaking _Avengers_ and now he had the chance to argue with them about whether they should have pizza or curry for dinner and it was probably the coolest moment of his entire life.

It was just that the blood staining his suit and the bullet hole in his side was putting a major damper on his enthusiasm.

He'd made it to the end of the conflict with only a few bruised ribs (the impact had also damaged the mainframe in his suit enough to send Karen offline, which was a massive bummer) and what was definitely going to be a black eye in an hour or two. He'd just webbed up his last group of Hydra thugs when the gun went off.

He'd been so preoccupied with disarming and webbing up the lone sniper that, at first, he hadn't even realized the bullet had hit its mark. It was only when he'd slung from a web and felt his right side erupt in agony that he realized something was very, very wrong.

And now he was on the ground, stumbling towards the Quinjet rather than swinging while pressing shaky hands against the bullet hole in his side, wondering just how pissed off Tony was about to be.

"Peter?" As if his mentor had read his mind, the billionaire's voice echoed in his ear in nervous concern. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet."

"Yeah, uh," Peter briefly considered telling Tony he was fine, but decided that it would be pretty impossible to hide the fact that he'd been fucking _shot_ on the eight hour plane flight back to New York, "I think I may need some help."

The comms went deathly silent.

"What's wrong, Peter?" Tony snapped, following it immediately with a frantic order to his suit's AI. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., give me Peter's location _now_."

"I, uh, may or may not have been shot."

More silence. Then,

"Holy _shit_ Peter."

"Report, Spider-Man. How long since the bullet entered?" Steve's voice was devoid of all emotion. There was something reassuring about the calm competence oozing from the super soldier's voice. It made Peter feel like everything was under control. "Is there an exit wound?"

"Um, like, maybe ten minutes ago? And, uh, yeah. It went right through."

"I'll be there in a minute, Peter. Stay where you are." Tony's voice sounded like he was verging on a full on meltdown. "Motherfucking _shit._ You were supposed to be fucking _fine._ Being shot isn't _fine_ , Peter!"

"Where's the wound?" Steve snapped, blatantly ignoring Tony's frantic cursing.

"My side. Like, the fleshy part. I don't think it hit anything important."

"It hit _you,_ Peter!" Tony practically yelled. "I'd qualify that as hitting something pretty fucking important!"

"Keep pressure on it until Tony gets there, Spidey."

Peter could suddenly see why Steve was such a good leader. He was quick, efficient, and to the point. Throughout the battle, he seemed to be able to keep tabs on every member while also handling himself with ease.

Peter still wasn't sure he liked him, but he did respect him.

He barely had time to finish the thought before the Iron Man suit was landing heavily in front of him; faceplate retracting before the boots even touched the forest floor.

"Peter!"

"Hey, Mister Stark." Peter said, a little more breathlessly than he would have liked. The adrenalin from the battle was wearing off, and he was suddenly feeling strangely detached from his body. The pain in his side was only multiplying as the seconds wore on. He swayed slightly on his feet.

"Hey to you too, kid." Tony's hands were on his shoulders, steadying him. "I thought I told you to stay safe? Is this a teenage rebellion thing, disobeying direct orders? I'm not sure I'm a fan."

The words were playful, but Tony's voice was shaking. His face was pale.

 _He's scared._

"Yeah, sorry about that." Peter gave him a weak smile, nearly toppling over as Tony let go of him to let the suit's gauntlets fold back over his hands.

Tony just gave him a tight smile. "Think you can keep pressure on that while we're in the air? The Quinjet is only a couple minutes away, so it won't be for long."

"Yeah."

Tony quickly but gently scooped the boy up, blasting into the air as soon as he had a firm grip. Peter let out a little gasp of pain as the jolt sent white hot agony shooting up his side and into his shoulder.

 _Were gunshot wounds supposed to hurt this much?_

His mentor, who had kept his faceplate off, winced at the noise. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Peter gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing deep, even breaths between the flashes of pain. "Just… it hurts."

"Hang in there, kiddo." Tony soothed. "We'll be back at the jet before you know it, and Bruce'll pump you full of the good stuff."

"The good stuff doesn't work on me, Mister Stark." Peter winced. God. _Fuck_. It felt like acid was leeching into his veins. "My metabolism is too fast."

"How about the good stuff we formulated for Captain America and his crazy DNA, huh? Something tells me that'll do that trick."

Peter couldn't stop the flood of relief that rushed through him. With the amount of agony he was in, he hadn't been looking forward to sitting through cleaning and stitching it without any form of pain meds.

"Thank _god._ " He groaned, unconsciously squeezing Iron Man's arm nearly hard enough to bend the metal.

Metal boots clanged against a ramp and, seconds later, he found himself being bustled into a jet full of the worried faces of the Avengers.

Bruce was on him in an instant.

"Lay him down there." Bruce barked to Tony, gesturing towards one of the bunks built into the wall of the jet. His next words addressed Peter. "Hey, kid. You know, we've really got to stop meeting like this."

The joke won Bruce a pained laugh. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

Peter gave a pained yelp as Tony, despite trying his very best to be careful, deposited him on the bunk.

"Sorry," Tony gasped, hand brushing through Peter's bangs compulsively, "I'm sorry, Peter."

Something told the teenager that he wasn't apologizing for the jolt.

Bruce frowned. "Can you rate the pain, one to ten?"

Peter chose that moment to shift, and his vision went white for a second. When the agony reduced to a level that allowed for semi-coherent thought, he responded. "Uh, like, an eight."

His whole body was starting to shake, and his breathing was taking on an unnatural rhythm. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to control it. Every movement made him dizzy. He couldn't tell whether it was because of the pain or something else entirely.

"Can you give him something?" Tony hissed, fingers moving to grip Peter's sweaty wrist.

"I'm on it. Hang in there, Peter. It's about to get a lot better."

All he could do was whimper. It felt like the pain was slowly being turn up on a dial. Every minute brought another level of agony.

The jet took off, and the minute movement that accompanied the action made colors explode in front of Peter's eyes. His back arched up off the table despite Tony's desperate attempts to keep him flat. A strangled scream tore its way through his throat.

He didn't even notice he'd started to cry as he reached blindly for Tony, desperate for comfort.

" _Tony_." He sobbed, clutching at his mentor's shirt desperately. "Tony, make it _stop._ "

"Just a second, kiddo." Tony soothed. Peter could hear that his voice was shaking. "Just a second. Just a little longer, okay?" He ran set a grounding palm against the teenager's chest. "What's the pain now, bud?"

"T-ten."

 _It's so bad, Mister Stark. Please. It's so bad. Make it stop._

"Okay, kid. Okay. It'll be, like, a negative five soon. I promise."

Bruce had just come back from… wherever he had gone, and was prepping Peter's arm for an IV. Normally, Peter would've protested. He _hated_ needles. Now, however, he was tempted to rip the IV from Bruce's hand and jab it in himself. He'd do _anything_ to make this pain go away.

Tony turned to the scientist as he worked. "Why is he in so much pain? That isn't normal, right?" He tossed a nervous glance back at the teenager's pale face, voice a raspy whisper.

Bruce just shook his head minutely as a response, eyes flickering pointedly at Peter.

"Quick pinch."

He didn't even feel the IV go in. He was just a little too preoccupied with the fire racing through his entire body to care.

Bruce deftly inserted a syringe into the IV and pushed the plunger down. Seconds later, Peter felt something cold race into his veins and a weird taste in his mouth.

"Take some deep breaths and just relax, Peter." Bruce murmured, taking a step back and whispering to Tony. "I'm going to grab the supplies to treat his wound. We'll give the meds a few minutes to work before I start."

"They'll knock him out?" Tony's hand was rubbing gentle, calming circles across Peter's forehead.

"Maybe, maybe not. It depends on how his body reacts to them. He won't be in any pain, though, I promise."

Bruce was right. Peter could already feel the agony ebbing away. His muscles relaxed, probably due to both the sudden lack of pain and the anesthetic effect of whatever it was Bruce has put in his IV. His fingers, which had been tearing at the seams of Tony's shirt, suddenly released. Tony rushed to catch his lax hands, settling them gently down on the bunk.

"There you go, son. Just relax."

Even through the final dregs of pain and the persistently growing haze caused by the drugs, Peter noticed the fact that Tony had called him son.

"Son." Peter murmured, a sleepy smile curling across his face. "Like that. You… you calling me son. I like that."

Tony blinked, as if he had just realized exactly what he said.

"Yeah, kiddo. I do too."

Peter blinked up at his mentor ( _father?_ ) slowly, surprised at how quickly the meds had dulled _everything._ It was surprisingly comfortable, though. His thoughts were slow, but warm. It felt like the times he would start to doze off while watching a movie with Tony and the older man would wrap him in a nice, warm blanket before tucking him into his side for the night. Everything was fuzzy, but in a good way.

"Mmm." Peter hummed, too drowsy to bother with forming words.

Tony smiled, a shocking amount of tension leaving from his body once he saw Peter relax. His fingers kept up their ministrations at his hairline, making the teenager's stomach fill with warmth.

His eyes slipped shut and he listened dazedly to Bruce and Tony, floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. The words washed over him in comforting waves, the content not fully registering.

"What the hell was causing him so much pain?"

"I don't _know_ , Tony. And be careful, he might hear you."

"He's high as a kite, Bruce. He's got no idea what we're saying. Now answer my damn question."

"I said I didn't know."

"But you have a suspicion, don't you?"

"I… I think the bullet may have released a neurotoxin on impact."

"It released a _what_?!"

"You know what I said, Tony. Pass me that, will you? Thank you. Anyway, I'm going to pull some blood and check, but I don't think it's anything to worry about. His healing factor should deal with it on its own."

"He was fucking _sobbing_ , Bruce. That's definitely something to worry about."

"We'll keep him drugged up until the toxin works through his system. It shouldn't take long. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can give us an estimate once I have the sample."

"How bad is the damage to his side?"

"Not bad. Peter was right, it didn't hit anything vital. It passed entirely through fat and muscle. I'm almost done stitching it. With his healing factor, I doubt it'll even scar."

"That's something, I guess."

There was a time where no one spoke. Eventually, he felt someone move his arm and Tony squeeze his hand.

"All done." Bruce's voice drifted back. Peter couldn't tell how long it had been. "I was right. It _is_ a neurotoxin. Luckily, his healing factor is already repairing the damage and flushing it out. F.R.I.D.A.Y. thinks we'll be clear to wean the drugs back in about 4 hours."

"You hear that, Peter?" Tony whispered, fingers curling lovingly across the boy's face. "You just take a quick nap, and we'll have you all fixed for when you wake up, okay?"

And because Tony said so, Peter did.

He was really tired, anyway.

* * *

Peter came back to consciousness slowly.

The first thing he was aware of was a calloused thumb rubbing back and forth across his cheekbone.

"C'mon, Peter. Time to wake up, kiddo."

That was Tony. Tony wanted him to wake up. He could do that.

Couldn't he?

How exactly did waking up work? After mulling it over for a moment, he decided that opening his eyelids was a good place to start.

All he managed to do was twitch them.

"There you go, squirt. Take your time. I'm not in a hurry."

Peter _did_ take his time. He gave himself permission to just exist for a few breaths, and felt some of the fogginess slowly creep away from his brain. His next attempt at opening his eyes was far more successful than the first.

He was rewarded with the exhausted but excited face the one and only Tony Stark.

"Morning, kiddo."

"Hey."

A bright smile lit up his mentor's face.

"Hey to you, too." The smile slipped for a split second. "Are you in any pain?"

Peter considered it for a moment. If he really focused, he could feel a weird pull and ache coming from his side. Otherwise, he was blissfully numb.

"No."

The smile was back full force. "Good."

"Called me son."

Tony looked at Peter, an unreadable expression on his face. For a second, it looked like he was going to play it off.

"Yeah. I did."

Peter opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Clint's voice.

"And you're _still_ saying he's not actually your son? Bull fucking shit, Stark."

Tony winked at Peter before responding.

"I guess you'll never know for sure, will you, Barton?"

Their only answer was a strangled scream.


End file.
